Stars In The Night
by Fearful Little Thing
Summary: Light can never truly love the darkness. But a noble girl hiding her dark side under layers of perfect sweetness can find the bright spots in the night. Rumbelle AU, set in the Enchanted Forest.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes**: I've been working on this story for a ridiculously long time and have only just gotten up the courage to post it. It's an Alternate Reality Rumbelle romance, which sometimes likes to pretend it's an epic drama.

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

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Light can never love the darkness, not truly, not as it should. When light looks at the dark all of the shadows are burned away and all it sees is its own reflection. It might know, deep down, that what it's looking at isn't the reality of the darkness, that the darkness is beyond its own comprehension, but it will always secretly believe that there exists something that just isn't there. And darkness, in turn, can never love the light. How could you ever love something that burns with its touch?

Something that can never see you for what you are, and can never accept you?

Only shadows can love the darkness. Only night calls to night. Only night lets you see the stars that daylight burns away.

I am shadows. You are night. And I can see your stars.

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In subtle ways she has always been reminded that she is the reason for her mother's absence. It's in the way her father looks at her sometimes, as if he's seeing someone else, someone older than she is, someone with darker hair. The look will be there, wistful and sad, but soon replaced with an affectionate smile for a favourite (for an only) daughter. There's a portrait in her father's sitting room that mocks her with its similarity to her reflection. Lips that look like hers, the shape of her nose, eyes that but for their colour could have been hers, and hair that is just a shade too dark. As if the painter were trying to recall her from memory, or from a description given by someone who has never seen her up close.

Belle tries never to look at that painting, and keeps her own small copy of her mother's image tucked away out of sight. Whenever she slips, whenever she finds herself looking at those pale greenish eyes, she remembers something that sends an unpleasant chill down her spine. The words of a stable-boy, no more than a year or two older than she, angry at her for something she can't now recall. How she's the reason her mother is dead. How the whole castle knows that Sir Maurice begged the healer to forget the child and spare his wife. Belle, the boy had said, has stolen her mother's life to save her own.

In tears, little Belle had run off crying to her nursemaid. But instead of telling the truth she had shown the woman her dress, dirty from playing in the stables, and told her the boy had pushed her down and struck her. Even then she'd known that Lady Constance's death was not a thing to be talked about. And, secretly, she had wondered if the boy was right. If she had stolen her mother's life.

It would have explained the satisfied little smile that graced her lips when she heard that the stable-boy had been dismissed, and the rebellious thought that he should have been whipped. If she had stolen another's life in order to live, it would explain the thoughts she had sometimes. Dark thoughts, best kept to herself.

Thoughts that never once left her lips.

Outwardly, as she grew from girl to adolescent, Belle remained the perfect noblewoman. Kind, humble, courteous, and dutiful. She learned her lessons without complaint, seeming to enjoy the simple beauty of fine sewing and embroidery as much as she seemed to enjoy the learning of accounts and politics. She was pleasant, and beautiful, and by her sixteenth birthday already her father had been tentatively approached by several families about potential marriages.

But Maurice always hesitated at the idea of sending his daughter away, so even though sixteen was a perfectly good age to marry, he claimed (politely, always politely) that his daughter was too young yet for marriage, but that he would happily talk of marriage in a year or two. Belle always smiled when she heard of that, giving her father a fond look. Secretly she was pleased, for although she felt she had little freedom to be herself while under her father's roof she knew full well she would have even less under the roof of a husband.

She was seventeen when the first whispers of a war made their way to their little border town. News carried by travelling tradesmen and refugees who were already fleeing the lands across the border spoke of ogres. Belle was there in her father's council room when the news broke, and she felt an odd flutter in her breast that wasn't fear. War - if it came to that - would mean many sudden differences to their little country fiefdom. It would mean many sudden differences to her duties. And though she would never see a battle up close, it would mean staunchly tending to the wounded and listening to the terrible tales of those who survived each battle.

"We must pray that it doesn't come to that," her father said gravely, and sent the messenger off to the kitchens for a good hot meal before he left.

"Yes," Belle agreed aloud, bowing her head solemnly. But in private, after dismissing her maids from her bedchamber of a night, Belle secretly prayed for the war to come. She didn't think about the lives that would undoubtedly be lost, or the cost to the kingdom, only the differences it would mean for her, the excitement and uproar.

Over the next few months there is more news as the war creeps ever closer to their borders. Belle found herself being given more tasks that take place in the still room, brewing, stockpiling and inventorying. She found herself overseeing the cutting and storing of linen, checking the wells, and buying more grain than usual. She wound her way through larders and sculleries, graciously thanking the maids and scullions who take the time to help her at her tasks. The only place she wasn't allowed to help was the armoury. Maurice had put his foot down on that. His daughter was to be kept far, far away from sharp objects and heavy plate armour, just in case his noble-minded child got any bright ideas.

Belle knew what he was afraid of, but she had too much self preservation to want to try and join the guard or pretend to be a knight. She's not so stupid as to think one girl in plate armour would make much of a difference, and not noble enough to try it anyway.

Then the dam breaks, and the first ogres are sighted near the border. And all of a sudden, Belle finds herself in a nightmare she never could have imagined. She wakes one morning to the sound of horses trotting through the courtyard, the sounds laid over by the chink of armour and the voices of many men. She dresses herself as quickly as she can without the help of a maid, choosing a more simple dress than normal for its lack of ties and difficult laces. And by the time she arrives in the greater hall it's done. Without her knowledge, or her consent, without so much as a word of apology.

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Maurice smiles at her as she approaches. The knight beside him, standing tall and proud in brightly polished armour, smiles at her as well. It's a polite smile, she thinks, and an assessing gaze. She can feel his eyes rake over her, down, then back up again, lingering for a moment at her hips.

"Ah, Belle," Maurice greets her warmly. "Just in time. Sir, may I present to you my daughter, Lady Belle of Avonlea. Belle, this fine young fellow is Sir Gaston of the duchy of Widow's Marsh. His father, Lord Henly, has agreed to send us a contingent of troops to fight the ogres."

"In exchange for your hand," Gaston adds, with a slight bow that she thinks is meant to appear gallant.

For a moment Belle is too shocked to make any kind of reply. She curtsies, remembering that courtesy at least. "Sir Gaston," she murmurs, recalling the sounds of men on horses and imagining a squad of knights milling about in the courtyard. She's heard of Widow's Marsh, of course. She knows of the duke, remembers hearing at some point that he'd had a son. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she says finally, a polite smile on her lips.

Gaston smiles back at her. An open, honest expression for an open, honest man. A perfect nobleman, looking for a perfect noble bride. Belle's beauty and breeding had always been expected to capture the attention of a lord. Widow's Marsh is large and prosperous. Even if he would miss seeing her mother's face around the castle, her father would be pleased with the match. Especially if it gave him the means to fight off their ogre invaders.

Pleasantries pass between them as Belle curses them both in her head, her smiles giving nothing away. For the next few days the castle is a hub of activity and she has no escape from her fiancé'. If she isn't being trapped into pleasant conversations and 'getting to know you' dinners, she's forced to listen to the servants gossiping about him and his knights. By the end of the first week her smile feels as if it's beginning to grow brittle. By the end of the second she knows it is, but by then there have been some attacks and brittle smiles are seen on more than one face.

A month, and half of the knights that Sir Gaston had brought with him are dead. Another week, and half of those left are either dead or fled. In desperation Belle's father sends a messenger to the King to ask for help. Belle thinks she may not be the only one who doubts the message will arrive in time.

They enter a siege a few days later. The ogres are surprisingly few, but it seems they don't need many to cause such terrible destruction. Belle watches their lands get torn to shreds from the window in her solar, stone-faced and silent. She attends her father's council meetings - meetings that have begun to grow in both size and desperation as more and more of the richer merchant families send representatives to speak to Maurice. She begins to dress ever more opulently and impractically, for if she is going to die in a siege or be crushed to death by rampaging ogres she may as well have some enjoyment before she does. And lately there has been little enjoyment to have. It seems only natural to her when some of the others follow suit, even her father beginning to dress in his finer court clothing instead of the comfortable cloaks and tunics of a country noble.

This particular meeting, Belle noted, everyone seemed to have followed suit. She saw velvets and slightly faded brocades where normally she would see plain linen and embroideries done by wives or daughters. And this particular meeting was also particularly grim. The last of Gaston's knights had just succumbed to his injuries in the infirmary. Uncharitably, Belle found herself wondering why it couldn't have been him. Now, even if they were somehow spared, she would not be. This meeting was a funeral either way, she felt. The death of the fief, or the death of her spirit locked away in a loveless (at least from her perspective) marriage. It could only be more depressing if the servants brought in a tray of dead kittens instead of the usual weak tea and stale biscuits.

A sudden commotion brought Belle to focus again, away from her dour thoughts. Something was happening out in the corridor, she thought, just as the doors to the council room burst open and in pranced the oddest, most bizarre looking man she had ever seen, followed by a contingent of hastily promoted peasant guards in ill-fitting uniforms.

He was dark-skinned, so much so that at first she thought he must be one of the foreigners from across the sea, but there was a quality to his skin that she had seen nowhere else. A kind of sparkle in the light, and a shade that was too close to grey or green to be anything natural. The oddity of his colouring was only enhanced by his choice of clothing - bold leather coat, high black boots, dark suede pants, and a hint of tarnished gold lace underneath a dark, high necked waistcoat. Expressive, long-fingered hands fluttered at his sides, tipped with dark pointed nails. This, she realised, would be the famed Rumpelstiltskin. With the guards trailing behind him like an entourage of nervous banner men he looked almost like a lord. Belle noted the sly expression on his face and thought; Almost.

"Sir," one of the guards was saying, barely a step behind the man and obviously trying to catch him before he came too far in, "sir, you can't -"

"I can," Rumpelstiltskin told him, voice an amused sort of trill, "and I will." Fingers flicked, and the guard clapped his hands to his mouth, eyes wide above them, while something wet and pink flopped to the ground in front of him.

A tongue, Belle realised, eyes wide. No blood, and still moving as if it were trying to talk, but a tongue just the same.

"And now that we've got that out of the way..." Rumpelstiltskin smiled sweetly, lips pressed together in an expression that mocked politeness. "I hear you're having a bit of trouble with some ogres. I might be able to help... for a price."

"You," Maurice greeted the implike man with such fierceness that Belle was convinced they must have met before, "we want nothing from you."

"Oh? Not even the lives of all your lovely peasant folk? Your merchants? Your... family?" Dark eyes swept lazily towards Belle.

Both Gaston and her father moved in front of her, a move so flawless it might as well have been rehearsed. Their backs blocked her view, but she could hear his giggle just fine. She saw her father shift, heard him clear his throat and ask; "What do you want? We can offer you gold."

"I don't want your gold. I make gold. No no no, for this..."

From the way half the room draws back from him, the way her father and fiancé recoil, Belle can guess where he's looking. She steps a little to the left so she can peer through the gap between Gaston and her father. As she's suspected, those dark eyes are fixed squarely upon her face.

"No. Out of the question," Gaston says, acting as if the matter is his to decide. Worse, Maurice chimes in with; "You can not have my daughter. Anything else. Not her."

"What a shame." Rumpelstiltskin smiles, sickly sweet. "No deal then." He turns to leave, past the guard who is still staring, horrified, at the tongue wiggling on the floor in front of his toes.

"Wait."

The man stops, but doesn't turn. The entire room turns to stare at her, and Belle realises that she's just spoken aloud. "Wait," she repeats, voice a little shakier now that she's begun. "Your terms? Me? That's it?" Belle feels her hands begin to shake and clasps them in front of herself. "In what -in what capacity were you wishing me, sir?" She waits for an answer (the whole room waits for an answer) but none comes, so she barrels on as politely as she can. "Wife?" He doesn't move. "Mistress?" Nothing. "Servant?"

The imp takes a single step back and turns slowly to face her, a theatrical move. He knows he's got the upper hand now, knows they're dancing to his tune whether they want to or not. "As it happens," he says cheerfully, "I am in the market for a caretaker. The last one died, terrible mess, such a shame, turns out not everyone is entirely familiar with the concept of 'forever'." An almost invisible eyebrow arches. "Are you familiar with 'forever'?"

"I am," Belle confirms, even as her father finally finds his voice; "Belle, no! You can't possibly be thinking straight. We will not deal with this... demon!"

Belle turns to her father with her most potent weapon, one she has never had to use on him. She stares at him with her mother's face and tells him; "If you won't, then don't. I decide my own fate, father. This is my choice to make." She looks back at Rumpelstiltskin. "Will you make sure that my friends, my family, our people, are unharmed? That they'll live, safe from the threat of ogres?"

"I can," he confirms. "And I will. Just say the word, dearie."

Belle unclasped her hands and gestured towards the mute guard. "He gets his tongue back."

He looks amused. "Of course."

"Then I will go with you, forever, and be your caretaker."

"Deal!" Rumpelstiltskin crows, above the sudden din of outraged voices. They can be outraged now, Belle thinks, because they know they are safe. They wouldn't dare if they thought there was any danger, if she hadn't just made sure of their protection. Filled with butterflies, trembling from head to toe, Belle still manages to push her way between her father and her former (she supposes it's former now) fiancé. She walks towards the imp, who thrusts out a hand for her to take. The second she does the din vanishes, and suddenly they're standing in a long, dark hall.

"They're safe," he tells her, dropping her hand like a hot brick. "Nasty ogres all taken care of, tongues all in their rightful places."

Disorientated by the sudden shift, Belle looks around, trying to figure out where they might be. A castle, or a fort of some kind, she thinks. "Where are we?"

"Lady Belle of Avonlea," Rumpelstiltskin says, mocking the courtesies of the noble class further with a bow, "welcome to the Dark Castle. My, ah, humble estate."

The way he says 'humble' makes her think it must be anything but. The reality is made plain as he leads her away from the great hall and further into the castle. She can tell, just from the height of the ceiling and the many doors that they pass - some open archways, some shuttered with carved oak doors - that the castle is at least as large as her father's. She sees no other servants, no signs of life, nothing but closed doors and lanterns without candles. Dark Castle indeed. Belle is out of breath by the time they stop, her impractical ballgown not made for traipsing up and down long hallways or flights of stairs. She sees this door, with its simple latch lock on the outside, and assumes it must be for her.

The doors in this part of the castle are simpler, solid bits of wood without any fancy carvings or inlaid glass. Rumpelstiltskin unlocks the door with a flourish and lets the door creak open on its hinges to reveal what she'd expected; A single room, furnished simply with bed, wardrobe, and vanity, an old leather chest at the foot of the bed. "Your room."

Belle steps inside, noting the single window. Glass panes, though dusty, let in enough light that this room at least isn't so dark. She stops by the chest and turns.

Rumpelstiltskin giggles, clapping his hands in delight.

Quite suddenly Belle realises that she must look ridiculous here, her fine ballgown a stark contrast to the plain furnishings of this simple single room. She blushes, but habit forces her to speak; "Thankyou," she says simply. "I'm sure I shall be quite comfortable here."

The grin falls from his features. It seems that was not what he'd wanted to hear. Whatever he might be thinking, the sudden seriousness is unnerving. Belle drops her gaze politely to the floor, as her maids often do. A coward's gesture on her part, but he doesn't need to know that. He doesn't need to see how unnerved she is by his sudden shift in mood.

"You can have a day to get used to things," he tells her, his voice a little lower now that he's not mocking, "after that it will be work. Come to the great hall tomorrow. Don't be late."

The door shuts on her before she can ask for a time. She hears the latch click into place and sighs to herself. Best make it early, she decides. Just in case. Belle looks around the room, a more thorough examination now that she's not being watched (or maybe she is, somehow, but she doesn't want to think about that). She takes a walk around the edges first, stops to peer out the grimy window at the tangled gardens below. It's not a lovely sight, not like the gardens back home, but it's not depressing either. It's just forgotten, she thinks, too much work for whoever had been expected to tend it, so they had let it run rampant. She sits on the bed a moment, running her fingers over the rough woollen coverlet. It's not as soft as her own, not as big, and not as pretty. But it has a mattress, sheets, and a thick blanket to cover them, and obviously she's just going to have to get used to it.

She stands, moving on to the vanity. It has a tiny three legged stool for a chair that wobbles a little when she sits on it, and in one of the small drawers she finds dusty pots of cheap cosmetics that have long since gone bad. But there's a brush she can use, and a yellowed old comb that looks to be made out of some sort of shell. In the other drawer she finds an empty glass bottle, a button, some glass beads, and a soft pink ribbon that's fraying at one end. The vanity's mirror is tarnished and spotted, covered with an ancient lace shawl that might have once been some sort of blue.

The chest is next. She peeks inside and discovers a spare blanket, a set of sheets, and an inordinate amount of handkerchiefs... most of which have the letter M embroidered into a corner, alongside tiny blue cornflowers. She also finds a pair of stockings, a single glove, and a mob cap in dire need of pressing.

Finally, Belle turns her attention to the wardrobe, wondering if it too will still contain bits and pieces left behind by whomever had lived in this room before her.

Indeed it does. Several dresses hang in the wardrobe, musty and in need of airing out. Most of them are simple work dresses, and she finds herself grateful for that.

Belle pulls one out and holds it up to herself to see how it compares for size. It's a little too big, especially around the bust, but a little alteration would fix that. She has a feeling she's going to need some more simple clothes. Belle puts the dress back and looks through the rest of them one after the other, judging how much she'll need to do to get them to fit. The last dress is a deep vibrant red velvet, trimmed in darker lace. A ball gown of a fashion that was in style ten or so years ago.

She feels somewhat morbid when she holds this one up against her body, but given that its previous owner was dead she can't see the harm in it. Probably she is ten years dead, Belle thinks, given the lack of personality the room has. She wonders if Rumpelstiltskin has a rotation of rooms that he puts his caretakers in, or if time just doesn't mean quite the same thing to him. She had assumed that he'd meant that his last caretaker had died recently. Evidently that wasn't the case.

The last items in the wardrobe are a few sturdy aprons and a single heavy travelling cloak. She assumes there are petticoats and stockings somewhere. And if not... well, if not, it's hardly going to matter. She has the distinct impression that it would be incredibly rare for company to call at the Dark Castle.

Belle sits herself back down on the bed, hands in her lap. She has nothing here from her home, no tiny keepsakes or mementos. She has nobody, and nothing.

Except this rather ridiculous dress. She can't help it then. She giggles a little. Well... she did pray for things to be exciting.

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She slept badly, unused to the bed, the odd creaks of the castle, and the lack of nightclothes. Without any nightgowns, she had been forced to sleep in her undergarments (or go naked, but that had never been in the cards, thankyou), and the night had been an uncomfortable one. Belle woke stiff and sore from a night of tossing and turning, sometime in the gray light of pre-dawn. She thought about trying to sleep a little more, but decided against it as a necessary precaution against being late, and sighed as she realised that meant getting up.

The flagstone floor was cold against her bare feet as she dressed, doing the whole thing out of order so she wouldn't be chilled in the early morning cool. As a result her stockings wound up a last priority, and by the time she'd put on her slippers her toes were so cold they were almost numb. She spent a couple of minutes brushing her hair before tying it back as best she could. The style was far too plain for her dress, but that couldn't be helped.

Done and dressed, Belle approached the door. The handle turned, but the latch was still in place, and so the door didn't open. Confused, she wondered for a moment if this wasn't some sort of game. If he planned on keeping her locked in here and then punishing her when she didn't show up to the great hall on time. If that were the case... Belle looked around the room again, thinking of things she might use to unlatch the door. It was a simple lock. All she needed was something to push the latch up and she would be able to get out. She spied the comb she'd used just a minute before and smiled to herself. It was thin enough, she thought, and snatched it from the vanity to test her theory.

The comb was thin enough to slide through the slender gap between door and frame, and just strong enough that with a little bit of jiggling she managed to lift the latch and unlock the door. Pleased with herself - and feeling very much the daring bandit - she replaced the comb and strode out into the hallway. It took her only a short time to find her way back down to the great hall, with only one wrong turn to delay her, and soon she was standing in the same big hall she'd arrived in yesterday. There was no sign of Rumpelstiltskin, which she took to be a good sign. There was no way she could be considered late if he himself wasn't even there yet.

Thinking of things she might do until he appeared Belle made her way towards the fireplace at the very end of the hall. There was a scuttle full of chopped wood beside the hearth, which glowed with the embers of last night's fire. Belle crouched down to add a couple of the pieces to the hearth, careful not to smother the embers. She stood when the fire began to take hold, dusting her skirts off as best she could with nothing but hands to help her.

With nothing else to do just yet, she gave in to curiosity and began walking around the edges of the room, examining the things she found without touching them. There were cabinets full of books and curios, paraphernalia the like of which she'd never seen sitting comfortably next to more familiar items such as tea pots and tankards made out of some silver metal. Pedestals housed more odds and ends, the majority of them large vases full of flowers that had long since shrivelled and died, nothing more than flaky petals and cobweb-thin leaves on spindly sticks. There was a spinning wheel and chair in the corner by the hearth, which she thought was curious, and even more curious the basket full of straw that lay on the floor next to it.

Looking up, Belle noted curtains along one side of the room, and a row of three dusty chandeliers hanging from the ceiling – all of them made from some kind of crystal, and all of them in desperate need of cleaning.

"So. You're here."

Belle jumped a little, startled, and turned quickly to face the direction the voice had come from. Rumpelstiltskin stood at the other end of the table, dressed much the same as he had been the other day, only without the dark leather coat, a suspiciously unhappy look on his face.

"I am," Belle confirmed, clasping her hands together in front of her and lowering her eyes like a proper maid would. "You told me not to be late."

"Yes," he replied sharply. "I did." He was silent a moment, then gestured suddenly towards a door to Belle's right. "Kitchen's through there. Make some tea, and then we'll talk about your duties."

"Yes, sir," Belle nodded, and left for the kitchens. She had a feeling that the words 'we'll talk' were more likely to mean that _he_ would talk and she would listen.

The kitchen was only a very short distance from the great hall, through a tiny corridor that had been plastered and painted white. The kitchens themselves were large and airy, with two large tables in the middle for preparing meals. Hooks hung from the ceiling, waiting bunches of herbs, or sausages, or vegetables. There was a large pot-belled oven for baking bread, and an even larger stove with an array of iron pots and pans hanging on the wall above it. There was a basin and pump for water, a large amount of knives, forks, skewers, and spits, and a massive cabinet full of cups, plates, trays, bowls, saucers, and two twelve-person tea sets. One of which was fine white porcelain, and the other of which was a muddy greenish colour that had seen better days.

Belle chose the white set, and a silver tray, and put everything she would need on one of the two large tables. She dealt with the kitchen fire first, then found a kettle amongst the pots and pans that she could fill with water from the pump. Tea was only a touch harder to find, sitting on a shelf in the larder in an unlabelled jar that, again, could probably do with a tidy.

It took her longer than she would have liked to brew the tea and get everything onto the tray, but she was pleased with the final result. She picked up the tray carefully and walked back to the great hall, hoping that her first attempt at a tea tray was as good as it looked.

Rumpelstiltskin sat at the head of the table, back to the hearth. He watched her as she approached and was silent as she set the tray down on the table.

"I'm sorry," she said, hesitating at making him a cup, "I'm not sure how you like it…"

"Just plain is fine, dearie."

Belle nodded, poured the tea, and set the cup and saucer down in front of him. She stepped back then, and waited.

"Pour one for yourself too, you might as well."

Obediently, Belle poured another cup, sweetening hers with a single spoon of sugar. She didn't presume to sit, knowing that most lords (her father included) often found it rude when a servant sat in their presence without permission. And as she was obviously a servant now, Belle thought she might as well try and prove that she did know how to behave.

Rumpelstiltskin regarded her in curious silence for a moment. Then, all at once, he began to speak. "Your duties here are simple. You will cook, you will clean, you will launder my clothes. You will bring me tea in the afternoons and fresh straw when I am spinning. You will not shriek, weep, whine, or whimper. You will remain far, far away from the north tower and you will not, for any reason, leave the castle grounds. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Belle replied, thinking that so far none of the requests were unreasonable. "And the gardens?"

"Ignore the gardens. I always do."

That was a relief. From the parts she'd seen from her bedroom window it looked the sort of mess that would take a team of gardeners years to get into order. "And… is there anything else I should know?"

The curious look was back for a moment, quickly replaced with a smile. "Nothing on the ground floor will hurt you, but if you try to open any of the locked doors on the upper floors you will be turned into a rabbit and eaten for dinner."

Belle nodded, then had a thought. "Even mine?"

"What?"

"My room is on the second floor, and it was locked, and I opened it," Belle pointed out.

"… well I can hardly turn you into a rabbit on your first day, can I? Any room except yours," he amended.

"Might I know where to find things for sewing?" Belle enquired, figuring that sooner was better than later. "I will need them to tailor some dresses so that I might have work wear. It hardly seems practical to go about in this gown if I'm to be cleaning."

He was looking at her oddly now, as if she'd magically sprouted another head, or as if her current one had just changed shape into something entirely unexpected. "Of course," he said, standing suddenly with a flourish of his hands. "Try the door to the right of yours. And if not, the second store room on this floor. Now, remember. Tea in the afternoon."

"I will remember." Belle nodded, and bobbed a polite curtsy even as he plain vanished from sight.

Belle waited a moment just to see if he would reappear, then sipped her cooled tea thoughtfully. Second store room on the ground floor… she would try that one first before venturing up the stairs. But first…

She collected the used cups and returned the tea pot to its tray. The whole thing she carried back through into the kitchen, debating a moment before deciding to simply rinse it all in the wash basin. That way at least it would be passably clean for the afternoon, and the day would give it all time to dry. With that done, and the used cups set out to dry, Belle headed for the store room.

It was a dry, dusty room filled with old rugs, bolts of cloth, boxes, baskets, and all manner of potentially useful bits and pieces that had all been stuffed in on top of one another. All in all there was barely enough room to wind her way through to the centre, where she found a sewing kit and a basket full of brightly coloured thread. She rummaged through the basket until she came up with a few plain colours she thought might match the dresses in her wardrobe and tucked them into the sewing kit. She had at least a few hours yet before lunch, so she might as well use a couple of them to try and tailor at least one dress down to her size.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes**: I've been working on this story for a ridiculously long time and have only just gotten up the courage to post it. It's an Alternate Reality Rumbelle romance, which sometimes likes to pretend it's an epic drama.

Thanks to everyone who Favorited or Followed. Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

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Tailoring dresses was different from the kind of sewing Belle had been taught. She had been taught the kind of sewing a lady needs to know, embroidery, fine stitching to pass the hours and make small tokens for her husband and children. She had never learned to sew clothing, as it had been expected that her maids would always do it for her. With that in mind, she didn't think her first attempt was too bad. The dress had come out a little tighter than she intended, and next time she would account for that in her measurements, but the seams weren't crooked (or _too_ crooked. The left side was a little bowed, but when it was on it was barely noticeable) and it did fit.

It was also infinitely more practical than her ball gown, which was now hanging in the wardrobe next to the old fashioned red velvet.

This dress was shorter, showing a good couple of inches above the ankle, lighter, and did not have boning in the bodice. The fabric was soft and simple, and would be comfortable to wear while scrubbing or sweeping. It didn't quite go with her slippers, but she had no other shoes and wasn't sure she'd be able to find any without direction. Besides which, her slippers were comfortable. Comfort, she thought, was probably better at this point than fancy.

It was definitely better for dashing down stairs in.

She got all the way to the kitchens without needing to stop to catch her breath as she would have in the ball gown, and smiled at her accomplishment. By now her cups were dry, so she set about heating another kettle of water over the kitchen fire. By this point she was also hungry, but unsure what to do about it. She had no idea if she was expected to eat with her master, or if she was supposed to take her meals here in the kitchen out of sight. After some deliberation she decided that eating here would do, and snooped through the larder to find a suitable something to snack on while she waited for water to boil.

She settled on an apple and some hard cheese and ate them at the table, thinking about what she should do next. She supposed she ought to clean something, given that was her job now, and got to thinking about what might be easiest to tackle first. She should probably explore the kitchen properly too, to make sure she knew where everything was, and maybe she could tidy it a little while she was at it.

The kettle began to whistle and she realised that she already had something to do. Tea in the afternoon, he'd said.

Belle brewed tea in the same pot as before. She set two cups on the tray, just in case she was asked to pour one for herself again. Not that she would mind. A cup of tea would be quite nice about now, actually.

By the time she emerged from the kitchen he was already there, sitting in the same place he had been that morning.

Belle walked up to him, noting that his eyebrows rose a little as her looked her dress up and down. As she set the tray down on the table he commented; "That belonged to my last caretaker."

"I had to take it in a little," Belle admitted, stroking the fabric of her skirt self-consciously. "I hope you don't mind me using her things."

"Why would I?" he asked, and reached for the tea pot, "she's dead."

"I don't know," Belle admitted. "You might be sentimental."

Rumpelstiltskin laughed. She cracked a smile. She had to admit, the idea of the sorcerer being sentimental did seem a bit ridiculous. "I'm never sentimental over dead things," he told her cheerfully. "Especially not dead mice."

He was telling her that the girl, the deceased M, was a timid thing. "She didn't last very long, did she?" Belle asked him, just to confirm her own theory.

"Worried you might be next?" Rumpelstiltskin arched an eyebrow and smirked, his expression sly.

"Only that it might be too soon," Bell answered, eyes on the table to avoid looking at his face. She was being intentionally bold, since he'd just hinted that he didn't care for timid girls skulking about like mice. "I'll be the next caretaker to die, certainly. It's a matter of when that concerns me."

"… Clever." She risked a glance up at him, and saw that Rumpelstiltskin was looking at her with an odd, thoughtful expression on his face. He saw her looking and promptly switched it for a sly smile. "Lets give it a week, shall we? One week, and I shall be able to tell you if I think this arrangement is going to work out."

Belle thought it over. A week of uncertainty, not knowing for certain if she was doing things right and pleasing him enough that she wouldn't meet the same fate as the last caretaker. Well, she thought, a week was better than a forever of not knowing. "Deal, sir."

"You're a very strong minded wee thing," he observed, and sipped his tea. "I wonder if your father ever knew how strong minded."

Startled, Belle realised she hadn't actually thought of her father since appearing in the Dark Castle. He was safe though, she was sure, and probably fuming over her decision to take the deal. "Probably not," she admitted dryly.

"And your… fiancé?"

Belle sighed. "Definitely not."

Rumpelstiltskin tittered. He put down his cup. "Dinner at six please, dearie. Don't be late."

Belle took that as her cue to leave, and bobbed a quick curtsy. "Yes, sir." She made her exit into the kitchen to continue tidying. And while she was at it she might as well try and figure out what on earth she was going to do about dinner.

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* * *

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She set the pan on fire.

Not on purpose, of course, but it was afire nonetheless. Determined to save it, or at least not to burn down the kitchen, Belle quickly pumped water into a large bowl and tossed it over the pan. The fire extinguished, and the contents of the pan bubbled and hissed with the sudden addition of water. As fast as she dared, hands wrapped in the fabric of her skirt, she grabbed the pan's handle and pulled it from the stove. It was only after she put it down on the table that she realised it would probably burn a mark into the top.

"Oh… bother."

Bother was the strongest word she could make herself say aloud, though many more appropriate words were running through her head. Belle poked at the contents of the pan with a wooden spoon, trying to decide if they were edible or not. She hooked a bit of the concoction on the end of the spoon and brought it to her mouth, blowing on it first to cool it.

It was… remarkably good. A smoky flavoured stew sort of thing. Served with some bread and wine it might just be passable.

Belle breathed a sigh of relief that her efforts hadn't been for nothing. (And that the fire could remain a gloriously silent secret, just between her and the kitchen stove.)

She spooned a portion of the mess onto a plate, with a slice of bread, and hunted for a bottle of wine that might compliment it. She found a bottle that might do – she couldn't be sure without tasting it – and put it on the tray with the food. She could hear the clock in the great hall just begin to chime and hurried to carry the tray out there. She made it just as the clock stopped chiming, just in time to see Rumpelstiltskin appear from thin air at the head of the table.

Belle carried the tray up to him and fixed the setting properly, with the plate of food in the middle. She almost hesitated at pouring the wine, but did so anyway, and stepped back when she was done.

Rumpelstiltskin sat down, picked up his fork, and then raised an eyebrow dubiously. "And what is this?" he asked, poking at the stew.

"It's much better than it looks," Belle assured him, actually looking forward to the bowl of it she'd kept for herself in the kitchen.

He gave her a look that clearly said he very much doubted that, but tried a mouthful anyway. Again, the thoughtful look appeared on his face. He gave her a sidelong look. "I can't imagine even a country noble's daughter was ever taught how to cook."

"It's not that hard," Belle lied, hoping he didn't see through it.

His giggle told her that he probably had.

She ate alone in the kitchen, enjoying the dish that she'd decided to christen 'accident stew'. When she was finished, she tried washing the plates and the pan she'd used to cook it. The plates she had no difficulty with, but the pan proved stubborn. By the time she was done scrubbing it clean she was hot, sweaty, and convinced that the secret ingredient in her dish must have been glue. Still, she couldn't help but be proud of herself for making something edible, and made her way up to her room that night with a sense of accomplishment she had rarely felt at home.

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* * *

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Breakfast, however, proved a challenge she didn't seem able to meet. Luckily for her, when she appeared in the great hall with bread and butter and little else, Rumpelstiltskin did not. Nor did he appear in the minutes following. Belle took the bread back to the kitchen and waited for him, filling the time with small chores as she noticed them. When the clock chimed the half hour mark she finally gave up and ate the bread herself. It appeared Rumpelstiltskin did not eat breakfast.

With the kitchen clean – or as clean as she knew how to make it – she went hunting for cleaning supplies, certain that they'd be on the ground floor somewhere. Or perhaps in the servants' wing. It took her longer than she would have liked to find the appropriate store room, though when she did finally stumble across it she was immediately convinced that she'd never be in need of more rags, mops, buckets or brooms. The room housed enough of each for a bevy of cleaners. Which, if this had been a normal castle with a normal staff, there would have been.

After some small amount of deliberation she decided that a duster was her best option. It made sense to her that dusting should be done first in whatever room she began, since doing it after sweeping would only mean she'd need to sweep again.

And, come to think of it, it made the most sense to start in the great hall. After all, that did seem to be both the room that was used the most (aside from, she assumed, the north tower and wherever Rumpelstiltskin slept) and the room that housed the main entrance. If they ever did get visitors they'd most likely come through the great hall, so keeping that clean and tidy would be necessary to making a good impression.

Belle worked as carefully and efficiently as she could, slowly figuring out that it was best to remove everything from the surface she wanted to clean, and then clean the bits and pieces themselves before putting them back again. It was a labour that she definitely wasn't used to, and soon she could feel her back begin to ache. Her feet too, a little. And her nose had begun to object to the amount of dust being stirred up. She covered a sneeze with a hand and wished she'd thought to bring one of M's many handkerchiefs down with her. She sniffed, feeling very unladylike, and resolved to carry one around with her in future.

She had done more than half of the room when the clock chimed eleven in the morning, and she paused for a moment to decide if she should keep going or if she should stop and retreat to the kitchen to prepare the midday meal. After a moment she decided she would finish this last pedestal, and fix the rest of the room in the afternoon. The only thing on this pedestal was one of those large vases full of dried flowers. Belle tucked her duster under one arm and carefully lifted the vase from its resting place. She turned, expecting nothing to be behind her. Only all of a sudden there was Rumpelstiltskin, commenting casually; "So you are working. I had wondered, you know. Most nobles tend to gripe a bit before they get started."

Belle gasped, startled by his sudden appearance, and barely managed to keep her grip on the vase. Vanishing was very handy for sneaking up on people, it seemed! "Sir! You scared me half to death, I could have dropped this!"

Rumpelstiltskin looked at the vase, then back at her face. "Well you didn't, so there's that."

"And you could have told me you didn't eat breakfast," she added, stepping around him so she could put the vase down as she'd intended.

"I don't eat breakfast," he said, clearly delighting in being contrary. "Now you've been told."

"Thankyou," Belle replied, her tone much politer than it could have been. She wiped the vase down with a rag, then went to dust the pedestal.

"I don't eat much at all, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin told her, perching oddly on the back of a chair. Like an overgrown bird, Belle thought. Or a clinging lizard of some kind. "Just the one meal, so don't trouble yourself about breakfasts or lunches. You have plenty else to keep you busy, I'm sure."

Belle wanted to ask how on earth he could stand just one meal a day, but kept her tongue. Magic, she supposed, or something else. He wasn't strictly human, after all. "Should I replace these flowers?" she asked instead, meaning the dried stalks sitting forlornly in the vases around the room.

"You won't find any flowers around here, but you're welcome to try." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the outdoors.

Belle thought about the probability of finding flowers in the overgrown mess of the castle gardens and sighed. Best not, at least until she found some pruning shears. She pulled the withered stalks from the vase and set them on the table, then moved the vase back to its pedestal. When she turned back the stalks were gone, and in their place was a fresh bunch of carnations. "Oh!"

Rumpelstiltskin examined his nails, preening a little at her obvious awe. A wave of his hand and the withered flowers in the other vases about the room sprouted into freshly cut carnations.

"What happened to finding flowers outside?" Belle asked, picking up the bunch from the table to put them back in their rightful place.

"Wouldn't want you getting lost," he said. "You might wind up falling down a hole, or eaten by ravenous wolves, and then I'd be without a caretaker. Again."

"Are there ravenous wolves in the gardens?" Belle asked, startled.

He smirked. "You never know."

She hoped he was joking.

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* * *

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The larder in the pantry had expanded its repertoire since breakfast. The half-eaten loaf of bread had been replaced with one that smelled as if it were fresh from the oven, and there were now three jars of tea where before there had only been one. In addition to that there appeared to be a cured ham wrapped in cloth, several new cheeses, and a small basket full of parsnips.

She wondered at this for a moment, then realised the answer would be the same as the revitalised flowers. Clearly this had something to do with magic, though whether it was the larder itself that was magic or if Rumpelstiltskin had put them there she had no idea.

Deciding it was easier to just accept it, Belle cut herself a piece of the ham, as well as some of the cheese and bread for her midday meal.

She sat down at the kitchen table to eat, happy to rest her feet. By the time she was done she didn't actually want to get up and finish the rest of the great hall. She got up with a sigh anyway, reasoning that if she didn't do it now then she'd have to do it later and it was better to get it over and done with. Besides, it was a lot nicer in there already, especially with the flowers.

It took her longer than she would have liked to finish up, and by the time she did she was hot and sweaty.

She hadn't seen any bathing rooms, though she knew there had to be one somewhere, so she pumped water into the basin in the kitchen and used that. With the water and a clean cloth she was able to manage a passable wash – at least of the parts of her that weren't clothed. She resolved to explore the servant's wing later and see if she couldn't find a bath of some kind. Being unable to wash at all would soon get very tiresome, so she'd best find a way to keep herself clean.

By that time it was mid-afternoon, so she set tea to brewing – this time from one of the new jars – and prepared the tray to take it out on. She was tired enough that her arms shook a little as she carried the tray out to the hall, cups and teapot rattling alarmingly against the silver tray. Rumpelstiltskin, already seated at the head of the table, watched her as she walked. She had the distinct impression that he was waiting for her to fall over or spill something and was therefore determined not to.

She managed to set the tray down on the table in front of him without mishap, and smiled in triumph.

"Like clockwork, you are," he noted dryly, letting her pour the tea. "Soon I'll have to check if you're actually human, not some clever clockwork creation made to trick me out of a good deal."

"If I were clockwork, wouldn't that be a better deal?" Belle asked, brushing a stray hair out of her face. She was going to have to find more effective ways to tie her hair back.

"It's true, that would make you a marvel, but I made a bargain for the living daughter of a nobleman, not a machine. Bad business practice, dearie, letting people give you different things than what you asked for."

Presumptive, but almost certain he wouldn't object, Belle poured herself a cup of the tea as well, though she didn't sit to drink it. "I wouldn't know," she replied politely. "I've never had much to do with trade."

"Never cooked either," he quipped, smirking over the rim of his teacup.

It took her a second to realise that might have been meant as a compliment. "I would do better if I had some instruction. Noble girls don't get taught that sort of thing, normally."

"And what do they get taught?" Rumpelstiltskin asked with a sly, teasing tone. "Seventy different types of curtsy? Twelve ways to flirt with a man using nothing but a fan and your handkerchief? The art of boffin-headed babble?"

"Etiquette, deportment, diplomacy," Belle listed, pausing to take a sip from her cup, "how to manage servants and do the household accounts, in case my husband was away or otherwise unable to do so himself. Embroidery… croquet. Nothing that seems particularly useful now."

"You'll learn," he assured her with a smile. "And if not, I can always kill you."

It was something that had been turning over in her mind, though she'd been trying not to dwell on it. "I suppose so," she agreed. "I just hope you won't make a mess if you do. That seems like it would be counterproductive."

Rumpelstiltskin laughed, a sound just a touch different than his theatrical giggle. She'd clearly startled him, and it was obviously a good thing. "Quite right. Very well, if I kill you," he promised, raising his right hand, "I will do so in a way that does not make a mess."

"It's only fair."

A contemplative silence fell, as Belle thought about the trouble she was going to have keeping a place this big clean all by herself and Rumpelstiltskin had whatever mysterious thoughts he had. With her tea finished, Belle placed her cup down on the tray and waited for him to do the same.

"By the way," he said as she was leaving, making her pause in the doorway, "nice job on the hall."

Belle smiled, genuinely pleased that he'd cared enough to notice her hard work. "Thankyou," she replied, and bobbed a slightly awkward curtsy, "sir."

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* * *

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Her attempt at cooking dinner went only a little better than last night's accident. At least in the sense that this time she had left herself enough time not to be rushed and had time to think of what she might do. A little further exploration of the larder had led her to a meat locker, from which she selected a joint something that she was only partially certain was lamb. She made a mess of cutting it, probably wasting more than was necessary, but managed to come up with enough for two. She set a pot of water on the stove to boil and a pan for the meat, which was soon sizzling away just fine. Into the pot she put some chopped parsnips, potato, and a chopped up leek that she'd found hiding behind a jar of preserves.

Everything went quite well, or so she thought, until she tried to turn the meat over. At which point she discovered it had stuck to the pan.

By the time she managed to scrape it off and turn it over the side it had been resting on was almost completely black. Belle sighed. She could only hope it didn't taste as bad as it looked, otherwise they were having parsnips, potatoes and leek and that was it.

When everything was cooked, she portioned it out into two plates, and took hers to the kitchen table to test. The meat wasn't as bad as she'd thought, though it was obviously a bit scorched and had a hint of charcoal in the flavour. It was a bit bland, but it was passable enough. It wouldn't be poisoning anyone anyway. The same could be said of the vegetables. A touch plain, but passable. She was going to have to experiment with spices when she found them. Or sauces.

How on earth did you make sauce?

The clock struck six just as she emerged from the kitchen, her arms shaking only a little as she carried the tray out. This time she was there to see Rumpelstiltskin appear, and this time noticed that he didn't so much just appear from thin air as he did shimmer into existence, a faint purple smoke dissipating into the air around him.

"Do you always use magic to get from place to place?" she asked without thinking, weariness making her more talkative than she felt she should be.

The sorcerer blinked at her. "Not always. It can be useful, place this big, but 'not always' just the same."

"Oh." Belle put the tray down on the table and set the placing at the head. "I'm sorry," she said pre-emptively, "it's a bit plain."

Rumpelstiltskin prodded the meat with the tip of his knife. "It's a bit burned."

She blushed. She knew she did, she could feel her whole face get hot. "I'm sorry, sir. I did tell you I was never taught how to cook."

"Nevermind. You'll learn." He popped a piece of the meat into his mouth and chewed, watching her face. "I've had worse."

It sounded as if it were meant to be reassuring. All it really did was make her wonder how bad 'worse' had been. He didn't seem inclined to make conversation then, so Belle excused herself politely and went back to the kitchen to tackle her own dinner. Despite its plainness she ate it quickly, hungry after a long day full of physical exertion. She wasn't used to so much physical work, and knew she'd be sore in the morning.

Small tasks tomorrow, she thought.

When she emerged from the kitchen after eating Rumpelstiltskin was gone, his plate left empty on the table. Belle decided to take it as a good sign and not wonder whether he'd magicked the food elsewhere. Possibly to feed the probably-fictional ravenous wolves in the gardens. She washed the pot, pan, and dishes, and set everything back into its proper place. Then, feeling far too tired for the early hour, she lit a lamp and made her way back to the servant's wing.

Belle had intended to do some sewing that night, to try and give herself another dress to wear. That plan went to pot the minute she entered her bedroom. Instead she found herself curling up under the covers of her bed, which felt amazingly comfortable to her tired body. Unlike the night before she was asleep within minutes, dead to the world and all around her.

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* * *

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When Belle woke up the next morning she was sore all over. Her back hurt, her shoulders hurt, even her arms hurt. She knew it wasn't the bed this time. The act of dressing made her sore muscles twinge unpleasantly, telling her she might have overdone it the day before. She would have to approach today differently, perhaps by taking the time to explore the ground floor and servant's wing properly. After all, she reasoned to herself as she tied her hair back, she couldn't be properly useful until she knew where everything was.

With that in mind (and a new respect for the servants and maids back at her father's castle), she wandered down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for herself. She figured she would start on that side of the floor and work her way around, poking into every door that she found.

From an explorer's point of view the castle was fascinating, full of odd nooks and rooms filled with items both useful and pointless alike. She found the laundry room, which she could identify from the huge empty tubs, the stocks of lye soap, stacks of buckets, mangle, clothes horses, and the two water pumps by the far wall. She found rooms full of furniture covered in cloth, dusty and obviously long forgotten. She even found a room that seemed to contain nothing but stuffed animals and hunting trophies, all of them looking rather sad under a coating of cobwebs and dust. Her favourite of those was a large, odd looking lizard that fascinated her enough that she was quite tempted to try and move it out to somewhere it would be appreciated. In the end she decided to leave it and move on. She had no idea how Rumpelstiltskin would feel about finding the stuffed lizard in the hall. For all she knew he might hate it.

She found a lesser hall with a small round table and several chairs, and plenty of tight passageways that she suspected had been built so that the castle servants could come and go without disturbing the nobles who lived there.

The servant's wing wasn't particularly exiting, all told. There were no mysterious store rooms, no surprises like the room full of stuffed animals. Belle did find a bathing room, one with several small tubs and a large sunken recess in the floor that might have once been intended for communal bathing. The whole place smelled a little musty, like too much floral scented soap, but she was glad to find it anyway. The rest of the wing seemed to be nothing but small one person rooms similar to the one she slept in.

Belle returned to the kitchens just after midday for lunch, carrying a basket from her room. She had decided to take another of the deceased M's dresses with her, along with the things she would need to alter it. If she wasn't up to doing more cleaning (and she wasn't, not just yet) then she might as well do something else that needed doing. She could wear this dress maybe once more before it would be in desperate need of a wash. Having two practical outfits would be much more convenient, that way she could alternate. Wash one, wear the other, and repeat the process as necessary.

The kitchen had just the right amount of light for sewing, so Belle passed the first half of the afternoon sitting at one of the kitchen tables, carefully unstitching and restitching the dress to suit her measurements. She managed to get it mostly done before she needed to stop and brew afternoon tea.

Her arms didn't shake as she carried the tea tray today, though she could feel a twinge in her shoulders and upper arms at the weight. It would be better tomorrow, she thought. And then she could try her hand at cleaning out another part of the lower floor.

Rumpelstiltskin appeared as she was pouring him tea, dressed more casually than she'd seen him before in red silk and black suede. His tall boots had been replaced with a pair that only came to calf-height. A casual, day at home outfit, she thought.

The sorcerer accepted the cup of tea she'd poured for him with a nod. He eyed her as she poured one for herself, then said; "You can sit, you know. The chairs don't bite."

"I wasn't sure I should," Belle admitted. "At home the servants would never presume to sit without permission in case they caused offense. I assumed I should do the same."

"Never feel afraid to sit in my presence," Rumpelstiltskin told her, "unless I specifically tell you not to, and there are few times I might do that."

"What if there's company?" Belle asked, and pulled out a chair to take a seat at the table.

"I rarely have company." He smiled, and it wasn't a very nice smile. "It's a rare soul who dares disturb me at my home."

"I imagine after the first few were fed to the wolves the rest of them would hesitate at coming."

Rumpelstiltskin giggled. "Something like that."

"You wouldn't really feed visitors to wolves, would you?" Belle asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Not if they weren't just here to waste my time, dearie."

"Have you fed someone to wolves before?" The sorcerer was giving her an odd look now. Belle flushed, eyes dropping down to her tea. "I'm sorry, forgive me. I shouldn't ask such questions."

"I don't normally feed people to wild animals," Rumpelstiltskin answered after a moment, ignoring her apology. "I might put them in a situation where they happen to be close by to hungry carnivores, possibly without any weapons at hand. But there's always a chance they might survive… however slim. Curiosity never killed, dearie."

Belle smiled a little, though she knew her face was still flushed. "That's odd, my nursemaid always used to tell me that curiosity killed the cat."

"Curiosity didn't kill it, stupidity did. One can be curious without being stupid."

Belle thought about that, weighing it against the few things she knew about him. He didn't like shrinking violets, he liked to impress people (if not with magic then with theatrics) and enjoyed being intimidating. However, he'd basically just told her that he didn't mind questions. But not time wasting questions, she guessed, not stupid or incessant questions.

"In my experience…" she began carefully, "the two seem mutually exclusive."

Rumpelstiltskin gave her one of his sly grins. He chuckled. "Ah, that would be because the curious stupid ones get themselves killed, leaving only those who are one or the other."

"Do you have to deal with a lot of stupid people?" She imagined he would, since everyone knew Rumpelstiltskin as the deal maker. If you wanted something, and were willing enough (or desperate enough), he was the one to ask.

"You have no idea."

"Well," Belle said, her tea finished, "I'll try not to let my curiosity stray into stupidity."

"Oh my dear," Rumpelstiltskin chuckled, "I doubt we have to worry about that."

That, Belle noted, was obviously a compliment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes**: I've been working on this story for a ridiculously long time and have only just gotten up the courage to post it. It's an Alternate Reality Rumbelle romance, which sometimes likes to pretend it's an epic drama.

Thanks to everyone who Favorited or Followed. Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

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* * *

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The next few days passed in a blur of sewing, cleaning, tea, and small kitchen-related disasters. For every passable meal she came up with there was always something she messed up or felt needed improving. Still, Belle knew she wasn't about to become a master chef in a matter of days. It would take a lot of practice, a lot of experimentation, and probably a lot of failures before she improved. Every night she went to be exhausted, either sore from cleaning or with her eyes aching from concentrating too hard on getting the stitches of her sewing just right. She was always busy, though most of her tasks didn't require a lot of thought. It gave her plenty of time to think – to daydream, or to wonder about the castle and the implike man who resided there.

Occasionally she wondered how her father was doing, how the people of Avonlea were doing now that there was no threat looming on the horizon. She even spared a thought for Gaston now and then, although most of them were remarkably uncharitable and had to do with being glad that she wouldn't have to marry him now.

A week passed by quicker than she realised. In fact, she didn't realise until tea one afternoon when Rumpelstiltskin commented, seemingly out of the blue; "Well, I daresay you might actually last."

"Sir?" Belle asked, not sure what he meant.

"Here," he specified, amused, "as caretaker."

"Oh?" Suddenly she recalled an earlier conversation, about giving her a week to see if she was going to work out. "Oh!" Belle smiled. "I'm glad. I would hate to be a waste of your time."

"Glad," he repeated sardonically, a sarcastic smile twisting his lips. "Of course. You're glad to remain here as a lowly servant to a terrifying old monster."

"I… I am, actually." Belle was sort of surprised by the thought, but it was true. "And you're not terrifying," she added firmly.

Rumpelstiltskin actually looked offended. "I most certainly am terrifying," he grumbled. His voice rose a little in pitch to the teasing, theatrical tone he favoured; "Of course you're glad to stay here, dusting and sweeping, up to your elbows in soap suds, cobwebs in your hair. Why, what young noble woman wouldn't want to grub about in a dark, dirty old castle under pain of death and dismemberment should she anger her master?"

"Most of them, I expect," Belle replied, a little annoyed. (She had actually raised her hands to her hair when he mentioned cobwebs.)

"And you are oh so different from the lot of them are you, dearie?"

"You just said I was," she pointed out crossly.

She had him there. She could tell by the way he paused, a less than pleased look on his face. "I may get rid of you yet," he said finally.

"I understand that is a possibility, sir," Belle said, as politely as she could.

If anything, Rumpelstiltskin looked even less pleased than before at her response. The frown made him look darker somehow, as if his greyish-brown skin had just grown a shade deeper. The effect lifted when he smiled, even though it was a dark sort of smile. "We'll see how you feel in a year or two. Forever is forever, you have plenty of time to change your mind."

He had meant to remind her that this wasn't just some temporary arrangement. That she was stuck here, serving him and looking after the castle, forever. Belle was struck suddenly with her future, a future filled with days spent mostly alone wandering through the castle, cleaning, sewing, washing. No husband, no children, no household full of servants to run, and a master who's moods tended towards belligerence and sarcastic good humour. Magic, she realised, would play a part in it as well. Wilted flowers that sprouted anew, a larder that seemed to stock itself, candles and lanterns that seemed to replenish overnight. It would be interesting and boring by turns, but it would not be the life she had expected. She would never be expected to keep her thoughts entirely to herself, to keep quiet and let the men make all the decisions, to concern herself with nothing more than baby making and frivolity.

"I can think of worse fates," she said at last, entirely honest.

"Can you now?" His tone of voice presented the question as a challenge. He leaned forward in his chair and steepled his hands together.

Belle didn't have to think very hard before replying, though as she spoke she couldn't make herself look at him. She stared at the table instead, cheeks burning a fierce shade of red, voice soft; "I could be nothing more than a commodity. I could be forced to marry a man who was cruel and cared nothing for me except for the parts that would make him an heir. I could be penniless, a beggar or a prostitute, humiliating myself daily for the means to survive. I could be raped, and beaten, and left for dead. There are plenty of things I would consider far worse than a lifetime of servitude in your castle, sir."

"I see you've given this some thought." Belle wasn't looking at him, but the way Rumpelstiltskin spoke made her think he was giving her that odd, thoughtful look again.

Belle dared to risk a glance up at him. "Please forgive me for speaking so boldly," she said, watching his face carefully to gauge his mood, "I just thought you preferred that to a… a mouse of a woman."

"So you feel you are glad to be here?" The sorcerer asked, this time without a trace of mockery though there was still something strange about his tone.

Such an unusual display of honesty deserved an equally honest answer. Belle nodded. "It's not perfect… but yes, I am."

The conversation ground to a halt after that, and after an awkward minute or two of silence Belle gathered up the tea tray and retreated to the kitchen. She decided not to dwell on it and instead threw herself into a new kitchen experiment. Using bits and pieces she vaguely recalled from poking about the kitchens as a child, Belle attempted to bake scones using the flour and eggs that had appeared in the larder. She went through two batches before she got it right – the first slightly too crispy around the edges and the second too doughy in the middle. The last batch though was good enough that she had one right then and there, savouring her success and the warm feeling it gave her.

Kitchen things might not be something she was good at yet, but every small success just made her more determined to learn to get things right.

By the time she had washed up, cleaned the kitchen, and made an attempt at frying ham she'd completely forgotten about Rumpelstiltskin's questions. So it was quite a surprise to her when at dinner time Rumpelstiltskin asked her;

"What would make it perfect?"

Belle blinked, then remembered the awkward tea time conversation. The announcement that she would last, and all of the awkwardness that followed.

"Oh… Books?" she asked, giving the first thing to pop into her head. "Baths," she added, a moment later, "or a water pump in the bathing room. And… and it does get a little lonely."

"Very well. Books and baths it is," he announced, looking very amused by her rather simple requests. "Company may be a little harder," he confided in a stage-whisper, "we're a little out of the way here and visits aren't a popular pastime."

"I don't even know where we are," Belle reminded him. All she knew was that this was the Dark Castle. She didn't know what kingdom they were in, or even what country. For all she knew they could be half way around the world.

"We're in a small pocket of no-man's land bordered by the kingdoms of Leed and Starrow," Rumpelstiltskin answered, obviously seeing no need to keep her in the dark, "otherwise known as the lands of King George and Queen Regina." The mocking tone was back in force as he said the monarch's names. Clearly Rumpelstiltskin had no respect for royalty. Either that or both monarchs had somehow managed to offend him at some point in time.

"No man's land," Belle repeated thoughtfully. "So there's nothing nearby," she guessed.

"There's a town," Rumpelstiltskin told her, dry voice making it clear he didn't think much of the town either. "A wee trade centre, bustling little thing. Very popular with those who like to avoid paying taxes on their goods."

So it was likely that was where thieves went to sell their goods on. Belle couldn't help but find it appropriate that such a place was close to the Dark Castle. "Do you go there at all?" she wondered aloud, trying to picture Rumpelstiltskin going to any sort of town for reasons other than deal making or magic.

The slightly offended look her gave her was answer enough.

Belle coughed to hide her smile. "Of course not," she answered for him, "if you did they'd be too terrified to sell anything and there wouldn't be a town anymore."

"You're teasing," he told her, a rather odd look on his face that was somewhere between annoyed and pleased.

"Your dinner is getting cold, sir," Belle replied, using her polite voice. She bobbed a curtsy. "And I should really be getting to mine."

"Go," Rumpelstiltskin waved a hand at her, nose in the air, "shoo. Saucy wee thing."

Belle left, a sense of accomplishment trailing in her wake. That was certainly something she hadn't expected, that talking with her master could be _fun_. Perhaps, she thought, she should tease him more often.

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To be honest, she hadn't exactly believed him about the books or baths. She'd thought it was all good intentioned platitudes, a promise that might come to fruition sometime in the vague and fuzzy future, not something that would be presented to her straight away. However, when she woke in the morning there was a note on the vanity.

'East wing, third floor. You can't miss it.'

The note was signed with an R.

Thinking that he might be giving her instructions for the next place he wanted cleaned (and really trying not to think about how the note had got there while she was sleeping), Belle got ready for the day. She retrieved cleaning materials from the store room and made her way to the third floor of the east wing. There wasn't much to it, or so it seemed. Just a short corridor with only a few rooms sprouting from it on either side. Most of the rooms were open, sporting only archways in place of doors, and led to small sitting rooms that were obviously intended for private meetings or entertaining. Only one of the archways actually had a door – a huge set of double-doors that sported brass knobs.

Belle tucked her cleaning gear under her arms, juggling a bit to make sure she didn't drop anything, and opened the doors. Immediately she gasped, broom, dustpan, cloths, and bucket dropping to the floor with a clatter.

The room was massive, a huge cavern of a room as big as the great hall downstairs. The ceiling was high above her head and books lined the walls from top to bottom, broken only by a huge window that let in the morning light. A balcony stretched the length of the room, narrow and cramped, with a spiral staircase that looked as if it had been made as small as possible so it wouldn't take up too much room that could otherwise be filled with books. Enchanted, Belle wandered into the centre of the room and drank it all in. Comfy looking chairs dotted the room, paired with small tables and square carpets in invitingly warm colours. Ladders had their places here and there about the walls, all of them on rollers so that no book could ever be out of reach.

There were more books here than any person could read in a lifetime, more than she had ever seen in one place.

Overwhelmed, Belle sat down right on the floor, unaware of the fine layer of dust disturbed by her skirts.

It took her some time to gather her wits, during which she immediately decided that this was her favourite room in the castle. Eventually she forced herself to her feet and gathered up her cleaning gear. She got to work sweeping the floor, working her way around the room and pausing every so often whenever a title on the shelves caught her eye. Soon enough she was doing more browsing than sweeping. Finally, when she found herself half way through the first chapter of a book on dragons, broom propped uselessly against the wall, she gave up and sat down in one of the comfy chairs.

Just for a little while, she told herself.

She was still there hours later when Rumpelstiltskin walked in, her cleaning gear completely forgotten on the floor. The sorcerer crossed the room with quick long strides, stopping directly in front of the chair she'd curled up in. Belle didn't even notice him until he spoke.

"Having fun, dearie?"

Belle squeaked in surprise, trying to straighten out of her curled up position and look attentive without losing her place in the book, which just led to some undignified flailing in the chair. Finally sitting upright, a rosy blush upon her cheeks, Belle smiled up at him. "I'm sorry. What was that, sir?"

"I said, are you having fun?" he asked, looking amused.

"I – oh – yes," she replied, a little flustered. She had to assume that being caught reading when she was supposed to be working wasn't exactly a good thing.

"It's past three in the afternoon," Rumpelstiltskin informed her. "I noticed when my little clockwork caretaker didn't show for tea. I said to myself I hope she hasn't run away, or I shall have to turn her into something nasty. But then I recalled the library and lo, here you are."

"I'm sorry, I had no idea I'd been here that long!" Belle really hadn't, though now she was paying attention she noticed that she was very hungry and that the light coming through the windows had a much different cast to it than morning light. Her stomach growled suddenly. She flushed, carefully putting the book down.

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes darted down to rest briefly on her stomach. He waved a hand, and a tea tray loaded with teapot, cups, and a plate full of scones and jam (she was touched to see they were the ones _she'd_ made) appeared on the small table near her chair. He sat down, in a chair that she only just noticed was there. "I suppose we'll just have to have tea up here," he said dryly.

Belle quickly moved to pour tea for them both, feeling a little odd about the whole situation. "I'm supposed to serve you," she said with a touch of reproach, "not the other way around."

"Consider it a practicality," the sorcerer smirked at her, "I could hardly let you drop dead from starvation, could I?"

"It takes a little longer than this to starve to death," Belle pointed out, even as she picked up one of the scones. "But thankyou."

"You could have fainted and hit your head, and then who would cook supper?"

Despite his flippant tone Belle got the distinct impression that he really would care if she'd fallen and hit her head, and not just because she wouldn't be able to cook supper. The thought made her smile a bit, glad that he thought of her. "I'm sure you could have managed," she said graciously.

"You've never had a meal cooked by me, dearie." He smirked over the lip of his cup.

Belle paused to take a bite of her scone, attempting to remain ladylike despite her hunger. "Magic can't cook things for you?"

"Not if you wish to avoid a horrible stomach ache after," he informed her, seemingly serious despite his teasing tone. "All magic comes at a price, dearie."

Belle looked at the tea tray, and then at her scone. Slightly confused, she asked; "What about this? Making the tea tray appear, and these scones? And you're always vanishing and reapparing all over the place too."

"Vanishing is bought and paid for," Rumpelstiltskin said, an odd note in his teasing voice. "Moving things from place to place. The price of small magic is equally small."

"Is that why you make deals?" Belle asked, her curiosity captured by this new idea. "To make the cost plain, or to share it with someone else?"

Rumpelstiltskin turned serious, his expression grim as he looked at her. "Never mistake," he said coolly, "when I strike a deal I am always getting the better end of the bargain. Gifts can be changed and manipulated, but contracts are iron clad. Dark magic has a tendency to bite the hand that feeds, you never benefit quite as much as you think you do. The things you want aren't always the things you need."

Scone gone, Belle wondered if it would be rude to just take another one. She _had_ missed lunch, after all. After a moment's hesitation she reached for another. "I suppose that's why people fear you," she mused aloud (she had been about to say 'hate' but changed her mind at the last second, afraid it might upset him), "any price they pay is a double edged sword."

"People fear me because I am powerful," Rumpelstiltskin corrected her, "and a monster. I'm a tale mothers tell their children to get them to behave. 'Go to sleep, or Rumpelstiltskin will eat you!'"

Belle shook her head. "I find it hard to believe you would eat children."

"… and that's what you take away from this." He sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if disappointed. Even though the slight upturn of his lips hinted that he was not.

"If you did eat children I'm sure I would have seen one in the meat locker by now," Belle pointed out quite sensibly, "and I haven't."

"I might eat them when you're not there to see."

"Well if you really do, just don't do it where I'll have to clean it up. I've never had to scrub blood stains out of anything before, I can't imagine it's very fun."

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled, springing to his feet. "Don't stay in here forever," he told her, wagging a finger at her, "I wont come looking for you again."

"I wont, I promise."

Belle watched him leave, noting the tiny puff of purple smoke when he vanished just before the doorway. The tea tray vanished with a similar puff, leaving only the half a scone she had yet to eat.

The rest of the day went by very quickly. Belle barely had time to finish sweeping the library floor (this time forcing herself not to get distracted) before she had to rush down to the kitchens to prepare dinner. If she were better at cooking, she thought, she would make bread or a biscuit in the shape of a child just to see how he would react. It was probably better that she couldn't, she mused as she chopped vegetables. She had no idea how Rumpelstiltskin would react to such teasing. He seemed to enjoy their banter, but just because he was pleasant enough to her now didn't mean he might not turn nasty if she ever offended him.

Although, if the past few days were any indication he seemed to like that she was bold enough to tease him at all.

He probably didn't get that a lot, she thought. Most people would be afraid of him, far too afraid to make jokes.

Belle could actually remember being threatened with Rumpelstiltskin as a child. It had never been a threat of being eaten, but she could recall her nursemaid telling her that if she didn't do as she was told her nurse would sell her to Rumpelstiltskin for a bag of gold. He was a bogey used to scare children, and stories of his power circulated all through the lands and possibly even across the sea. And he liked being teased by his caretaker. Belle giggled to herself. In all honesty the more time she spent with him the less dangerous he seemed, despite frequent jokes about death and dismemberment.

She managed to create a passable sort of soup thing. It wasn't quite as good as the accident stew, but at least this time it was intentional. She tasted it before ladling it out into bowls, deciding it to be a success.

At the usual time, six o'clock sharp, she carried a tray out to the table in the great hall. Rumpelstiltskin was there already, feet up on the table. He took them off as she approached, setting them back on the floor.

"Ah, so you didn't decide to stay in the library forever."

"I did say I wouldn't." She set the soup down in front of him and stepped back.

"So you did, dearie." The sorcerer eyed her in silence for a moment, then took up his soup spoon. "You know," he said, far too casually, "you don't have to eat in the kitchen all the time."

Surprised, Belle took that to be as close to an invitation to dine with him as he was ever likely to give. "I wasn't sure," she replied politely, "I thought it was best not to presume…" Belle smiled. "I'll just go get my plate."

Admittedly it was nice to have some company while she ate, and over the next few days it became a habit to just automatically bring out dinner for two. If she secretly suspected that perhaps he enjoyed having her around, she was wise enough to keep it to herself.

Her days had fallen into a routine of sorts, featuring all manner of tasks that she never would have been expected to do had she remained in the castle at Avonlea. She cleaned, she cooked (or tried to, with varying success), she laundered, dusted, explored, and sewed. Some things, she had discovered, she was better at than others. For instance, cleaning was easy once she got the hang of it. Repetitive, often tiring, but easy to do a good job. Cooking was proving to be more complicated than she could have guessed, but her meals were passable even if they weren't very _good_. Laundry, on the other hand, was a chore that often left her sopping wet and irritable. The clothes, sheets, or cloths got clean, but no matter how she tried she also wound up getting her skirts, the floor, and sometimes what seemed like her entire dress wet in the process. Ironing was just a bloody bore, and she had burnt her fingers once or twice before learning how to handle it properly.

Exploring was much more fun. Belle found her way into all manner of forgotten rooms, slowly memorising the lay of the castle and making new and sometimes baffling discoveries along the way. Like the room entirely full of nothing but baskets of spun gold, which had made her jaw drop in awe as she wondered if even King Midas had ever seen so much gold in one place before. Or the tiny store room on the second floor, no bigger than a cupboard, which was stuffed full of small, dusty glass-eyed dolls.

There were, as she discovered, a number of doors about the castle that were locked. She had never seen signs of any keys, and some of the locked doors didn't even appear to have real locks, so while she was curious she had realised quickly that it was best not to pry. It would be stupid to try and get into any room that was locked in a sorcerer's castle. Whatever was in those rooms was either dangerous or private, and Belle had no wish of disturbing either.

Her efforts at altering the deceased M's dresses also improved, and soon she had a wardrobe full of practical clothes. Her favourite was the last, and the one she felt she had done the best job with. A simple blue dress, cut to just below her calves, with a subtle pattern of flowers dyed into the fabric. Paired with a sensible shift it was both comfortable and, if what she could see in her tarnished mirror was any indication, flattering. It might be vain to want to look good while she went about her work, but she couldn't see the harm in wanting to look nice.

In any case it's not as if Rumpelstiltskin ever seemed to notice what she was wearing, she thought with a sigh. She could probably walk around the castle in nothing but stockings and chemise and he probably wouldn't bat an eyelid. Belle suppressed a giggle at the thought, musing on the obliviousness of men as she dusted the vases in the great hall. Rumpelstiltskin was at his spinning wheel and she didn't want to disturb him with girlish giggles.

Rather, they were both disturbed by a sudden knock on the doors.

Belle was so surprised that she actually jumped, nearly knocking the vase from its pedestal. By the time she had it righted the sorcerer was already at the door. She heard a muffled, strangely familiar voice, then the door shut with a soft bang.

Belle turned around to see what was going on. "I thought you didn't get visitors," she commented, though she didn't see anyone with him.

"Rarely," Rumpelstiltskin replied, walking towards her. He held out a single red rose, the bud barely beginning to open. "An old woman selling flowers."

"Thankyou." Belle took the rose, touched. She held it to her nose to breathe in the sweet scent. "It didn't sound like an old woman," she said, trying to recall the muffled voice and why it had seemed so familiar.

"Perhaps it wasn't," Rumpelstiltskin admitted with a sly smile.

"I think they sounded angry," Belle mused, frowning a little and stroking the flower's petals.

"Perhaps they were," Rumpelstiltskin agreed, returning to his spinning wheel.

Belle looked down at the flower in her hands. She recalled the first time she'd seen him, when he'd removed a man's tongue for speaking out of turn. She looked across the room at him where he sat, calmly spinning straw into fine gold thread. "Did you turn someone into a rose?" she asked, curious and suspicious at the same time.

Rumpelstiltskin looked over his shoulder at her, a nasty smile on his face. "Perhaps I did."

Belle looked at the flower again. She put it into the vase she'd just dusted. Feeling impulsive to the point of stupidity she crossed the room and bent down to kiss her master's cheek. "Roses are much nicer than something nasty," she told him, and quickly disappeared into the kitchen before she could catch his reaction.

Belle hid in the kitchen much longer than was necessary, uncertain of her own actions. Impulsiveness might just wind up being her downfall, she thought. If he was offended, or if he thought she was making fun. In truth she wasn't entirely sure why she'd decided to kiss him on the cheek like that, but she couldn't muster up regret for the action itself… just the idea that she might have overstepped and made things awkward between them.

She half expected tea that afternoon to be strange and awkward, but Rumpelstiltskin acted as if nothing at all had happened. He was perhaps a little more flippant, perhaps a little meaner with his jokes, but otherwise unaffected by her unexpected gesture of affection.

On the other hand, Belle kept wondering what on earth had possessed her. He had essentially given her a dead person (in the shape of a rose, but still) as a gift and she had found it touching enough to kiss him. This was what came of being bold, she sighed to herself as she washed the afternoon's dirty dishes. She forgot that proper young ladies were supposed to be horrified by that sort of thing, forgot that she was supposed to actually have empathy for others. Without her father, her maids, and a castle full of people to watch her she had let herself slip.

True, it would have been far different if Rumpelstiltskin had tried to present her with an actual dead body. She would have been horrified then. But a flower that had once been a person was neither bloody nor distasteful. It was a sign of how much he thought of her that he'd even bothered to turn whoever it was into a rose rather than just making them disappear.

At dinner she noticed that all of the flowers in the great hall, which had been carnations, were now red roses that matched the bud he'd given her. Belle could only imagine that he was being deliberately provocative.

"I've always liked roses," she commented, cutting up her ham steak (which could have done with a bit more seasoning really). "They're my favourite flower. Their smell always reminds me of summertime."

"Summer is vastly overrated."

"What about roses?"

Rumpelstiltskin looked at one of the vases, then back at her. "They're not the worst flower in the world."

Belle took that to mean that yes, he liked them. She smiled. She was getting the hang of judging his moods and being able to tell when he was joking and when he was being serious. It was a skill that came in handy. "And carnations?"

"Not horrible."

"Daffodils?"

"Awful."

"Sunflowers?"

"If this is an interrogation you might want to think about improving your methods." The sorcerer arched an eyebrow at her.

"I'm not interrogating you, I'm just curious. I know so little about you really." It was the honest truth. Belle didn't know a lot about Rumpelstiltskin except the things that she'd observed. And while she may have gotten the hang of him, she knew next to nothing about his likes or dislikes. Or his past, besides the (likely exaggerated) stories she recalled from her youth.

"Ah. So you want to learn the monster's weaknesses?"

Belle shook her head. "If I wanted to learn your weaknesses I wouldn't be asking about flowers."

"You have a point," he conceded, eyes crinkling. "Unless my weakness happened to be common garden flowers – it's not, by the way – which would be very clever."

"I like common garden flowers."

"A female's natural attraction to pretty things," Rumpelstiltskin scoffed, dismissing the very idea of flowers with a wave. She suspected it was all theatrics.

"We _do_ like pretty things," Belle agreed pleasantly, thinking of the jewel box she'd had back at her father's castle. As country nobles they weren't the richest people in the kingdom, but she'd had a few pretty pieces of jewellery and had enjoyed wearing them.

"Flowers, shiny baubles, jewels, silks and embroideries. Like magpies." Dark-tipped fingers fluttered, imitating wings in the most general way.

"I don't know any magpies who like embroidery," Belle said, making a silly little joke.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled at her, exposing his teeth. "Perhaps you haven't been meeting the right birds, dearie."

Belle couldn't help a giggle at the thought of being introduced to embroidery-loving magpies. She also didn't miss that he looked pleased to hear her giggle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes**: I've been working on this story for a ridiculously long time and have only just gotten up the courage to post it. It's an Alternate Reality Rumbelle romance, which sometimes likes to pretend it's an epic drama.

Thanks to everyone who Favorited or Followed. Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

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Life in the Dark Castle seemed anything but. Belle had become accustomed to spending much of the day alone, wandering about and doing chores. The library had cured any sort of loneliness she had, she could easily become so engrossed in a book that she would forget where she was or how much time had passed since she had started reading. And, as promised, a week after mentioning baths an odd looking water pump had appeared in the bathing room above the largest brass tub – one that pumped hot water directly into the tub. Roses continued to grace the vases in the hall, and had begun to make appearances in the library and even in the kitchen.

It was quite a sweet gesture, really. And it served to brighten up the place considerably.

Belle never noticed if Rumpelstiltskin ever left the castle, but as she rarely saw him outside the afternoons and at supper she could have been gone most of the day and she never would have noticed. With his proclivity for vanishing from one place to another it seemed likely that he might be gone at least part of the time. She'd had this theory for only a short time (she blamed her initial business and preoccupation with learning about the castle for not wondering about it sooner) when she was proved right. At least in a roundabout way.

It was just about time for tea, so she was walking towards the kitchen. She was just passing through the great hall when she saw a puff of purple smoke from the corner of her eye. She turned, and stopped right in her tracks. "What on earth is that?" she blurted before she could stop herself, staring at the object that had appeared on the table in front of Rumpelstiltskin, who had in turn appeared seated at the head of the table.

"It's a mummified chimaera," Rumpelstiltskin replied, as if it should have been obvious.

"What is it doing on the table?" Belle asked, horrified that a mummified _anything_ would be on the table they ate at. Now she was going to have to clean it before supper, or she wouldn't be able to eat a thing without worrying about flakes of chimaera in her food.

"I just acquired it in a deal." The sorcerer smiled at her. "They're very useful in potions. You never know when these things might come in handy."

"On the _table_, Rumpel? I asked what it was doing on the table, not what it was used for."

Rumpelstiltskin blinked at her, seemingly surprised by something. The expression lasted only a split second before it was replaced with one of his nastier grins. "It's on the table because I put it there, dearie."

Belle sighed, hands on her hips. "Should I take it to that room with all the other stuffed animals?"

"No need." He flicked a hand at the mummified carcass and it disappeared. "I rather prefer to keep such useful things close to my workroom."

"The north tower?" Belle eyed the table, noticing how there was now a patch of yellowish dust where the chimaera had lain. She sighed again. She was definitely going to have to clean the table now. She was just about to turn and go find a cloth when a small cloud of purple smoke rolled over the table. When it vanished it took the dust with it.

"Waste not, want not," Rumpelstiltskin quipped.

Belle didn't stop to consider the gesture properly. She smiled, and habit made her curtsy before she left for the kitchen. "I won't be a moment, I just need to brew us some tea."

By now Belle was very efficient at brewing pots of tea. She had the tea tray ready in under a minute, the tea steeping in just a few more. She carried it out, two cups on the tray as usual, looking forward to having a break from the mountain of small chores that came with being the caretaker of the Dark Castle.

She had just reached the table when suddenly the doors to the outside burst open, emitting the afternoon sun alongside a woman that Belle had never seen before but could only assume was nobility. Belle set the tray down on the table, glancing at Rumpelstiltskin. His face had gone stony and unimpressed, but he didn't get to his feet or make any indication that the woman was unwelcome.

Belle stepped back from the table to a polite distance and clasped her hands in front of her. She wasn't sure that the bold air she'd adopted with her master would be welcome here in front of this newcomer and decided to play it safe. She would act the polite servant girl until she knew where things stood or until he gave her an indication of how to act.

The woman was beautiful. That was the first thing Belle noticed. Beautiful and confident, she walked the length of the great hall as if she owned it. As if she owned the world. Her outfit was as bold and confident as she, dark and rich, brocade and leather. Her knee high boots clicked ominously against the stone floor. Red lips twisted into a mockery of a pleasant smile.

"So the rumours are true," the woman began. Her gaze fell on Belle, who immediately looked at the floor as was proper. "After so many years you finally got yourself another maid."

"Regina," Rumpelstiltskin said in that theatrical tone he favoured when he was at his meanest, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I have a proposition for you," Regina (Queen Regina, Belle realised, of Starrow) replied imperiously. "But first… I am curious. Why now, Rumpel? What on earth could you possibly want with a country bumpkin from the borderlands? She's a small thing, isn't she? Is she as mousy as the last girl?"

Belle didn't dare to look up, in case she found herself eye to eye with the infamous queen. However, she found she couldn't remain silent, not when accused of being a mousy bumpkin. Not after having gotten used to speaking her mind to please a master who abhorred mousy women. "May I offer you some tea, Your Grace?" Belle asked politely, years of playing the demure noble maiden helping her with her smile.

"Tea?" Regina repeated incredulously. Belle looked up enough to see the queen finally notice the tea tray, complete with two cups. She smirked at Rumpelstiltskin. "Don't tell me I interrupted tea with your little mouse."

The sorcerer opened his mouth, eyes dark in a way Belle hadn't seen before.

"You didn't, Your Grace," Belle cut in before he could say a word, aware that she was treading on dangerous ground here, and not just for interrupting him. "The tea is for you, and Master Rumpelstiltskin. He asked me to make it. He knew you were coming, you see."

Rumpelstiltskin's mouth snapped shut and into a smile. "Quite right," he agreed, seamless in the lie. "I realise I've been remiss in my hospitality of late. Old friends that we are…"

Regina was silent for a moment, clearly off balance. She regained her composure quickly, but Belle was certain she wouldn't be getting called mousy again. "No, thankyou. I didn't come for pleasantries."

"Shall we move this to a more appropriate location then, if you're not tempted by the tea?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, finally getting to his feet. "The north tower."

"Of course."

Twin puffs of smoke made the great hall flare purple for a moment. Then Belle was alone. She sighed. Her curiosity was unbearable, but the north tower was off limits… and a good distance away. Even if she could get there it would likely be empty by the time she arrived.

Instead of worrying about it Belle went to close the doors. She paused in the doorway, noting a carriage and several bored guards on horses milling about by the great iron gates that marked the entrance to the castle grounds. She shut the doors, blocking the guards from view. The tea tray she carried into the kitchen.

She had finished her tea, cleaned the dishes, and moved on to sweeping the kitchen floor when he walked in. It shouldn't have been shocking to see him in the kitchen, but somehow it was. Belle couldn't picture Rumpelstiltskin ever cooking, and certainly never washing up, so it was very strange to see him standing there in a place she'd come to consider _her_ domain.

"She's gone," he told her plainly.

Belle bit her tongue before she could say 'good'. Instead she asked politely; "Does she come here often?"

"Rarely," Rumpelstiltskin replied. "I did tell you we hardly get visitors here. Regina is one of very few who would dare show their faces here, and the only one who would dare to show up unannounced."

"I hope I wasn't out of line," Belle tried for a smile, weak though it was, "offering her tea."

Rumpelstiltskin smirked. "Hardly, dearie. You caught her off guard with that one, a difficult thing to do. We've something of a less than playful rivalry between us, you simply managed to remind her that she oughtn't underestimate me… or those who live under my roof."

Belle could feel the colour rise in her cheeks as he described exactly what she'd been hoping to do with that move. "She called me a mouse," she explained, talking mostly to her broom.

"A country bumpkin from the borderlands," Rumpelstiltskin quoted, pitching his voice higher to mock the Queen's. He shook his head. "You are neither mouse nor bumpkin. A thing she won't be forgetting any time soon."

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you at all. I know a servant's behaviour reflects on their master."

Belle had been staring determinedly at her broom, so it was a surprise when she looked up and found that he was _right there_ in front of her, staring into her eyes with a curious intensity. "Nonsense," he said. "Utter nonsense. In case you hadn't noticed, dearie, I am rude, spiteful, and enjoy needling others weak spots. If you were anything less than a bold wee minx, just imagine how disappointing that might be."

"You like me bold," Belle summarised, hands clutching the broom tight, heart pounding in an odd sort of way.

"I'm not _entirely_ opposed to your disposition."

Belle looked down at the floor a moment, then back up into the sorcerer's dark eyes. "I'm not… entirely opposed to yours," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. They were very close, she noticed. If she leaned forward just a touch she would be close enough to kiss him. The thought made her blush.

There was an odd look on his face, one that was very similar to the thoughtful air he sometimes had when she did something he found surprising. Something about his eyes was different though. Something that made her stomach flutter with anticipation. Rumpelstiltskin raised a hand, bringing it towards her slowly as if he were about to take hers.

Abruptly he stopped. The hand dropped, and he turned away from her. He had walked out of the kitchen before she even knew what was going on, leaving her alone and inexplicably disappointed.

.

* * *

.

She examined her feelings in the cold hours between afternoon tea and supper, thinking hard as she chopped vegetables and attempted to prepare dinner. Belle knew that she was in an unusual position, but she had always thought of herself as an unusual girl. So, with that in mind, and with the freedom this deal had given her (in all of its irony) she supposed it wasn't entirely strange that she might develop feelings for her master.

Feelings that, one way or another, were going to have to come to light. Feelings that, she thought, he might feel towards her as well.

It was there in the way they spoke with one another, a casual easiness that had built between them over the weeks. She knew he thought about her, cared enough about her to see that she was well provided for and didn't skip any meals on account of the library. It was in the flowers that still appeared in the great hall and the kitchen, and the way he never complained about her cooking when as her master he had every right to. It was in his eyes when he looked at her.

She wondered if it was in hers when she looked back.

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* * *

.

Dinner that night was strangely awkward in way Belle hadn't felt before, not even in her first few days at the castle. While Rumpelstiltskin made an admirable effort to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary his comments and conversation tended to lean towards intentionally cruel and shocking. He was reminding her, she thought, that he was not a nice man. He was reminding her that he tricked desperate people into giving up the things they valued most, often without realising what it would mean. He was reminding her that he was a terrible thing, a monster, and not somebody to be trifled with. Not somebody for whom a girl like her should have feelings.

By the time he made his third comment about decapitation Belle was fed up. It was his own fault, she reminded herself, he was the one who wanted her to speak her mind.

"I once heard that if you cut off a man's head he'll still be alive for just a few seconds afterwards," she replied, idly moving bits and pieces about on her plate. "I heard it's one of the quickest and least horrible ways to die, but I can't imagine that's so if you're still alive for seconds afterwards. Alive long enough to see your own headless body." Belle looked at Rumpelstiltskin, who was now silent and staring at her sullenly from across the table. "I am aware of who you are," she told him plainly. "I am aware of what you do. I'm not stupid, so don't pretend as if you need to keep reminding me lest I forget your name and think you a normal man."

Dark eyes flashed dangerously. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I have some idea," Belle challenged, heart pounding in her throat as she did this stupid thing and confronted him. "Or do I not know you at all, Rumpelstiltskin?"

"You don't know me," he hissed, staring her down.

They were having two conversations, she knew. One was the obvious, the one that was happening in words. The other was the one that was happening with their bodies, in the stubborn tilt of her chin and the way his shoulders seemed to have hunched inwards. Belle took a breath, aware that if she was wrong here then this could be her end but certain that this had to happen just the same. Someone had to say something before she finally cracked and kissed him one day during tea, and it obviously wasn't going to be him who started the conversation.

"I know that you're a dangerous man," Belle began, attempting to make things as plain as she possibly could, "the most powerful man in all the kingdoms, and yet you would never think to rule them. I know you've spun more gold than you could ever spend, yet you still sit at the wheel and spin as if somehow it could drown out the world. You collect treasures and put them away in dusty storerooms, never to see the light of day again. You tease and intimidate and delight in being called a monster, but I see you smile whenever I defy your expectations and say things to you that no other would dare. You think I enjoy your company because it's the only company I have," Belle's voice cracked, and she had to take a breath before continuing, "you think I forget who you are, that I'm seeing something that isn't there. I see what I see, and I see you, Rumpelstiltskin. I see you, and I have never, ever tried to run from you."

The silence that fell was heavy. It had weight that she could feel pressing against her shoulders and chest. She wanted him to stop pushing, to stop being spiteful to see how much it would take to make her shrink and prove that he was right. She wanted her feelings acknowledged, and not overlooked as a trick of the light or something that couldn't possibly be there. Bizarre as it was, and as much as it would make her father squirm and quake if he ever knew, she was as close to happy here with Rumpelstiltskin as she had ever been. Happier than she'd been in Avonlea, and more attracted to the sorcerer than she had been to her noble, gallant, gentlemanly fiancé.

Good, normal noblewomen wouldn't dare to even entertain the thought. But Belle had already figured out that she wasn't a good, normal noblewoman.

Dinner was completely forgotten, Belle's moderately-improved cooking slowly growing cold.

"You think you know me," Rumpelstiltskin spoke eventually. "You think you see me." He stood, two steps bringing him close enough that he could grab her wrist. The world shimmered around her, and suddenly they were standing in the middle of a dark, circular room. "You haven't seen this."

'This', Belle suspected was his trump card. His final play, the thing he thought would get her to admit that he was a monster and she was seeing things that weren't there. A place she never would have gone on her own, forbidden to her from the day she'd set foot in the castle. He was going to be very disappointed in her, she thought, when she didn't react as planned.

Tables, shelves, and cabinets lined the walls, a single small window letting in the last vestiges of evening light. The entire room was filled with magical paraphernalia, potion bottles, boxes, stones, mirrors, and parts of animals floating in jars of greenish liquid. There was even a baby, held in a massive clear glass jar on a table, frozen and preserved in its artificial womb.

Rumpelstiltskin stepped back away from her and flung out his arms dramatically. "This," he said, motioning to the chaos around them, "is who I am, Belle. This is what I do. Do you still think you know me? Do you still think you see things in me?"

Belle shook her head, but not for the reason he wanted. She hated this, hated that it had to happen, hated that she didn't know how it was going to end. "I'm not running away," she told him, "no matter how much you want me to. I care about you."

"You care about an illusion!" He crowed, fist banging down on the table for emphasis. "Belle. Pretty clockwork Belle who only sees the good, you forgot you were having tea with a monster."

"I never forgot," she protested firmly, and reminded him; "The very first time I saw you, back in my father's castle, you ripped out a man's tongue and left it wriggling on the floor. You would have let Avonlea crumble if there hadn't been something in it for you. Why are you determined to think I can't see that side of you?"

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes blazed. He was fierce and intimidating like this, seeming to take up the whole of the work room with his presence. She could feel the anger rolling off him and couldn't help but be a little afraid. "Nobody sees that side of me and stays as you do. Everybody else can see it! What other explanation is there? The minute you truly realise who you're sharing this castle with you'll run screaming back to your little town."

"If you want me to leave," Belle told him, her hands trembling, her eyes stinging with unshed tears as she forced the confrontation to a head, "if you ever want me to go away, you'll need to kill me. I promised you forever."

The sorcerer moved so fast she could barely see it. His hand pressed hard against her throat, the tips of his clawlike nails pricking her skin. Dark eyes bored into her blue ones, fierce, unyielding. He squeezed, and for a moment Belle was certain she wrong and about to die. And then, just as quickly, he let go.

Belle stumbled, gasping for breath, and sank down onto the cold stone floor. She watched him drop to his knees, hands covering his face, defeated in a way she'd never seen before. Belle crawled across the floor to him, uncaring of the dust and grit under her hands. She sat beside him and touched his shoulder, a soft, tentative touch that she wasn't sure would be welcome. She knew once and for all that she was right when he didn't push her away.

"I didn't… I didn't plan for you," he whispered, voice raw. "You weren't supposed to be like this."

"I'm not going anywhere," Belle promised softly, leaning into him.

"Why do you care?"

"I… I don't know," Belle replied honestly. She tried for a smile, but it came out wrong. "Maybe there's something wrong with me. I always knew I was peculiar… And then I agreed to come here, and nothing was what I expected. I… I was fascinated, ever since you took that poor man's tongue. Everything I've learned since then only made me want to know you more."

Rumpelstiltskin slowly lowered his hands from his face and turned a little to look at her. "You are peculiar," he agreed softly. The sorcerer sighed, taking her hand from his shoulder. "Oh Belle, there's so much you don't know. So much I can't tell you…"

"You can tell me," Belle insisted, encouraged when he didn't just let her hand go but instead kept it in his. She wanted to know, if only because she always wanted to know more about him. "Please."

"How can I trust you?" he asked, his voice tired. She knew it was a problem. His nature was to keep things to himself, to keep his secrets his alone. And while Belle was certain she could handle anything he chose to tell her, she also knew it could be disastrous to try and push too far.

This was enough, she decided. It was enough that he'd acknowledged that she cared, enough that he'd acknowledged that he couldn't kill her and that she was there forever. That at least was out in the open, so what did it matter if he didn't tell her all his secrets. "Don't tell me then," she offered. "Don't say a word. I don't need to know."

"What?" Eyes too large and too dark to be entirely human looked at her first with suspicion and then with fondness. "So you really are no spy," Rumpelstiltskin said dryly, and gave a small, dark chuckle. "Curious Belle, you can't tell me you're not interested in learning my secrets can you, dearie?"

Belle hesitated. "I am curious," she admitted. Her fingers tangled in the fabric of her skirt, then smoothed it. A nervous, absentminded gesture. "But I can't ask too much from you. If you ever want to tell me then I'll listen, if you ever want to show me I'll look, but I can't just expect you to change your nature on command. I have no right to ask you to tell me your secrets."

Rumpelstiltskin watched her in silence, obviously taking in her body language and gauging whether he thought she was telling the truth. Eventually he sighed and got to his feet, more slowly and less showy than usual. He offered her a hand up.

Belle took it and found herself on her feet. "Why did you ask for me?" she asked suddenly, emboldened when he didn't just let go of her hand. "When you came to my father's fief you asked for me as your price. Why did you want a caretaker? Why did you want me?"

"I knew you were the most priceless treasure your father had to give," Rumpelstiltskin replied, his words carefully measured. "You were the thing he least wanted to give, the price he was least prepared to pay. Your father wanted to believe he was an honourable man, but he would rather have let his people die than offer you to me."

She believed that, as fully as she believed that when Maurice had looked at her sometimes he had seen his dead wife standing in her place. "Why did you want a caretaker?" Belle repeated softly, feeling the rough texture of his fingers against her own, softer hand.

"Even old monsters like the company of pretty young maidens," Rumpelstiltskin explained with mocking self-deprecation. He withdrew his hand from hers, back straightening. "Well," he said, more like the theatrical, mocking self than she was used to, "I think that's enough for a night. Off with you now, dearie. It's quite late and I should hate to keep you from your beauty sleep… not that you need it, of course."

Belle smiled a little at the compliment, seeing the dismissal for what it was. They both needed time, him to compose herself and her to go over what had just happened and figure out what it meant for them both. She bobbed a slight curtsy, nodding her head. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Rumpelstiltskin."

She left through the door, taking a candle with her to navigate the winding staircase that led the way back down to the castle and out of the tower. By the time she got back to her room she felt exhausted, weighed down by the weight of an emotional night. She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow and didn't wake until light was streaming in through the window.

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* * *

.

When she woke in the morning her things, the altered dresses, the ballgown, and the things she'd appropriated from M's chest, were gone. All except for the blue gown that hung from the wardrobe door. Atop her vanity there was a note.

'It's time you got a new set of rooms. Third floor, west wing, the door carved with roses. R'

Things would be different now, Belle thought to herself as she got dressed, lacing herself into the sensible blue gown. She wasn't sure how much had changed, but she knew that she was no longer just the Dark Castle's caretaker and Rumpelstiltskin's maid. That was plain enough, even if it hadn't been outwardly said. He couldn't kill her, the deal prevented her from being dismissed, and clearly she was moving up in station if she was getting a set of rooms in the third floor – where the only bedrooms were those that in other castles were usually kept for visiting nobles.

Belle made her way to the third floor of the west wing, which was nearly a mirror of the east wing. She found the door carved with roses at the end of the hall, a door with a keyhole but no visible lock that she could see, brass handle gleaming bright as if recently polished. When she opened the door she knew that she was right.

These were a noble woman's rooms, a suite with a sitting room, bed room, and separate chamber for bathing and changing clothes. There was even a small balcony that housed a small round table and two chairs, giving her an excellent view of the overgrown gardens that surrounded the castle. As she explored the rooms she noticed that her things had already been put away and that new things had been supplied as well. The only thing that hadn't been supplied was a new mirror, the only one in the whole suite of rooms just as tarnished and near-useless as the one from her vanity had been.

This vanity though, was very different from the plain, functional piece of furniture in the servant's wing. This one, like the rest of the furniture in these rooms, was made of rich dark wood and embellished with carved vines and ivy. It also housed a carved jewel box which, she discovered with a small gasp, contained a small fortune in gold jewellery.

When she opened her new, much larger wardrobe it seemed that her clothes too had seen an upgrade. The sensible work dresses were still there, but now they sat alongside an array of gowns that wouldn't be out of place at court. Fancy things made out of silk and damask, decorated in lace and tiny crystals. Things, she thought to herself, that would match Rumpelstiltskin's chosen attire of intimidating dark colours and expensive materials perfectly.

As a gift, he couldn't have made his intentions more plain.

Belle would just have to make hers plain as well.

She selected one of the new dresses from the wardrobe, a dark purple gown that tucked in tight at the waist and straddled the line between every day wear and court clothing. Less elaborate than some of the other gowns, but definitely richer than her work dresses. She left her hair down, letting it fall in tumbled waves about her shoulders. She knew it made her look pretty, her maids had told her so enough times.

Dressed to impress, Belle made her way down to the kitchen and brewed a pot of tea. She made up a tray with two cups, took the teapot, and began her ascent. After having explored most of the castle from top to bottom over the past month she could only assume that whenever he wasn't to be found in the great hall Rumpelstiltskin was in the North tower. His workroom. The place where, until now, she had been forbidden from entering.

She was a little out of breath by the time she reached the top of the stairs, the cups rattling a bit on their tray. She stopped at the top to take a breath or two, then carefully balanced the tray on one hand so she could knock on the work room's black door.

"What is it?" she heard his voice snap from inside.

Belle opened the door, pleased when nothing unpleasant happened to her upon doing so, and entered the room. "It's me. I thought you might like some tea."

Rumpelstiltskin was at one of the benches when she entered, his attention taken up by some ancient, yellowed scroll. He turned as she came further into the room, dark eyes looking her up and down. Belle waited patiently for a reaction. She was not disappointed. Rumpelstiltskin cocked his head to the side a little. "That suits you," he said. "You like it then?"

"I like them all." Belle moved to the table in the middle of the room, the one with the glass womb. "Can I put this here? Will it disturb anything?"

"It's fine. That's just a curiosity, only good for scaring people."

Belle set the tray down and picked up the teapot to pour them a cup each. "Thankyou for the new rooms, by the way. And the dresses, and the jewels. I love them all."

"Well," he said, picking up his cup, "if you're going to stay here you may as well be comfortable. Forever is a long time, dearie."

"I can think of worse fates," Belle told him, taking up her own cup. She sipped delicately, hiding a smile behind the teacup.

He grinned at her above his own. "I'm sure you can."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes**:I'm sorry for the delay in posting this chapter - I'm afraid Life got the better of me for a while there and I plum forgot I hadn't updated! Thanks especially to the people who reviewed, you guys make it all worth it.

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

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* * *

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Things changed rather rapidly over the next week. Belle fell into a new sort of routine, one in which she spent a lot more time with Rumpelstiltskin. She found herself swapping outfits at least once a day – from practical gowns in the mornings for cleaning and chores, to fancier gowns from her new wardrobe for tea with Rumpelstiltskin and dinner in the evenings. It wasn't just because she wanted him to know that she appreciated the gifts. In truth she had missed being able to dress in rich fabrics and dresses that marked her as a woman of noble birth (or at least as a member of a rich household, which she supposed she was now). It was also strangely gratifying to see that more often than not her choice of dress did indeed look as if she'd chosen it to match his. True, she might not be dressed in leather and tall boots, but somehow her dark, richly coloured dresses didn't look strange beside his imposing coats and high-necked waistcoats.

Belle also found herself spending more time with Rumpelstiltskin in general. Tea became a more lingering affair where they chatted and exchanged teasing quips long after the pot was empty. Dinner too became longer, and once or twice she was surprised by the sorcerer popping into the kitchen before she was ready to serve. She'd had to shoo him out with a wooden spoon, flapping her apron at him until he finally left, laughing at her merrily.

Stories about his deals and antics outside the castle began to creep into their conversations. And so, in turn, Belle began to tell him small things about her childhood and her life as it had been in her father's castle, stifled and pressured into being the perfect lady.

Eventually, though sooner than she'd thought she would, she found herself telling him about her mother, and her theory that she had stolen her life for her own

"She died while birthing me," Belle told him as they walked through the overgrown gardens, the first time she'd actually been outside in over a month. The last time being a few weeks after she'd first arrived. "The maids say that I wasn't breathing at first, that I only began to cry when my mother passed away."

"It's not impossible," Rumpelstiltskin replied carelessly. "A thing the clerics won't tell you, prayer can be like magic. If even a normal person wishes hard enough for something, if the circumstances are right, there may be consequences."

"I look like her. The only real differences between us were our eyes and hair. Mine are lighter."

"I could change that, if you like."

Belle didn't recognise his teasing tone until after she'd already gasped out a 'no'. She saw his wicked grin and gave him a wry smile. "No. I like myself the way I am. I've looked this way my whole life, it would be strange to change it now."

"Yes," Rumpelstiltskin agreed, "strange indeed."

Belle blinked at the odd note in his voice. She got to wondering if Rumpelstiltskin had always looked the way he did. It was a strange thought. She couldn't imagine him a normal man. The thought persisted though. She tried to picture what he might look like with skin that didn't shimmer oddly in the light, shine battling with tones of brown, grey, and green.

"Have you always looked the same?" she asked, wondering if he would even tell her.

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated a little, covering it up with a hop-skip towards an overgrown rose bush. He plucked one of the pink blooms and presented it to her with a flourish. Belle took the flower with a courtly curtsy, then raised it to her nose to breathe in the sweet smell.

"No," the sorcerer told her eventually. "Dark One's don't get born, dearie," he said flippantly, "they get made."

"So you were a man once. A normal man." Belle squinted at him, again trying to picture it. She shook her head, twirling the rose between her thumb and forefinger. "I can't imagine you as anything else." A thought struck her, curious enough that she just let it pop from her mouth; "Is that why there are no mirrors? Did you hate it after you changed?"

The sorcerer gave a dark little chuckle, different from the high pitched giggle she associated with jokes and teasing. "No, Belle. Mirrors are dangerous. You never know who might be looking from the other side." He gave her a sidelong glance. "Queen Regina especially has a talent for spying through mirrors."

"Oh." Well that explained why the only mirrors in the castle she'd seen were the ones in her rooms, and that those were so badly tarnished she could barely see herself. She knew enough to figure that though Rumpelstiltskin and Queen Regina associated sometimes they were not what you'd call friends. In fact, she'd go so far as to say that Rumpelstiltskin clearly didn't trust Regina, and the same was probably true on the Queen's end. From what Belle understood the Queen was the kind of person who always wanted a little more power, an ace up her sleeve or something she could use against people if she needed to. If she could spy through mirrors then no doubt she wouldn't hesitate to look through any in the Dark Castle.

For a moment Belle was a little concerned about the mirror in her rooms. Then she decided that she didn't exactly do anything interesting enough to be worth spying on.

A servant girl, or even a whatever she was now (a lover, even though they hadn't yet kissed? A friend?) getting dressed in the mornings was hardly interesting enough to a spy. "You have an odd relationship with her," Belle observed carefully. "Not friends, not enemies."

"Regina is… a necessary evil." Rumpelstiltskin giggled at his own joke. "She can be useful. One never knows when one's allies might come in handy."

"I don't like her."

Belle's announcement drew another giggle from the sorcerer. "That's because you're a decent judge of character, dearie. I daresay she doesn't like you either."

.

* * *

.

Over the next little while Belle got so used to the new routine that she began to suspect that this was what life was going to be like from now on. At least for a time. She had settled in to this new rhythm of castle life, so it was quite a shock when she was suddenly woken up in the middle of the night by a feather tickling the tip of her nose.

Sleep-fuddled and groggy, Belle shifted away from the insistent tickling and squinted up into the darkness at the lean figure looming over her bed. "What…?" she asked groggily, only aware of who it was in her bedroom because it couldn't possibly be anyone else.

"Get up," Rumpelstiltskin chirped, far too cheerful for such a late hour. The long, thin feather he'd been using to tickle her nose flicked back towards her face. Belle batted it away, attempting to snatch it from his hand. She failed, naturally. "I've been summoned," he told her imperiously, dancing a step back from the bed. "Get up, get dressed, hurry along."

"What?" Belle repeated again, not quite catching on. "Why?" Why on earth did she need to get dressed in the middle of the night if he'd been summoned?

"Because you're coming with me." Rumpelstiltskin grinned at her and several candles lit up around the room, making Belle squint in the sudden light. "Quickly now, we wouldn't want to keep anyone waiting would we?"

Clearly he was not going away. Belle stared at him a minute, then sat up, holding the blanket to her body to cover her thin nightgown. "I'm not getting dressed with you watching," she informed him.

"Fine, fine." He disappeared. A second later his voice rang from outside her bedroom door. "Hurry up then."

Belle climbed out of bed with a sigh, stumbling towards the wardrobe. He had said to hurry so she grabbed the first dress her hand came into contact with and put that on, fumbling with buttons in ties as the last of her sleepy muddle left her. She paused for a quick stroke of a brush through her hair before tumbling through the door and into the sitting room where Rumpelstiltskin was pacing quickly to and fro across the rug.

"Very good," Rumpelstiltskin praised her gleefully, "I couldn't have picked better myself."

It took her a second to realise he meant her clothes. Belle looked down to see that she'd chosen a gown of dark red, accented in black and gold. She looked back at the gleeful sorcerer and saw that he was wearing his intimidating leather coat over a dark silk shirt. Their colours matched, she noted. She truly couldn't have picked better. She straightened her skirts a little and stepped towards him to take his outstretched hand.

Before she knew it they were standing in the middle of a wooded clearing, the moonlit forest thick with the smell of pine sap and night-blooming flowers. She saw the so called desperate soul immediately, just as easily as she saw why they were there. A man knelt on the ground, his face red and wet with tears, a young boy – no older than twelve – on the dirt in front of him. An arrow protruded from the boy's chest, a dark shadow of a stain spreading across his shirt, blood black in the dim light.

"Well, well," Rumpelstiltskin introduced himself with a sly tone, slowly crossing the clearing towards the man and boy, "what do we have here?"

The man looked up, distraught. "Please," he begged. "Please, I didn't mean it. I swear I thought he was a deer. The night's so dark, and I don't see too well these days… Please, bring him back!"

Rumpelstiltskin cocked his head to the side. "Magic can't bring back the dead," he said, and the man wailed. "Lucky for you," he added, holding up a finger, "this one isn't dead… yet."

"Please," the man begged again, "please save him. I'll give you anything."

"Anything." Rumpelstiltskin turned on his heel to look back at Belle, his eyebrows raised slightly. "They all say 'anything'. Well, what shall it be?" He glanced back at the man, a mean smirk on his lips. "Your life? Your home? Everything you have? What do you have that's worth the life of this boy?"

"I… I…. my home," the man offered, voice trembling.

Rumpelstiltskin looked at Belle. "Well? Do we accept? Is a house enough worth for a life?"

Belle looked at the boy on the forest floor, feeling cold and numb. She thought she'd caught on to the purpose of this little outing. He was testing her again, giving her a little look at his 'true self'. As if she didn't know what he did for a living. Well if he was going to behave that way…

"No," she said coolly, directing her words at the hunter. "A man's home isn't worth another's life."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, evidently pleased by her answer. "There you have it."

The man started to shake, the reality that the boy would die beginning to sink in. "No…"

As Belle watched him, shaking with his sobs, the boy dying on the ground in front of him, the answer came to her. "Years," she said softly, though she wasn't even sure it could be done. "We'll accept years. Years of your life in exchange for the boy's."

Rumpelstiltskin clapped his hands. "Yes! Years," he agreed, two long strides (almost skips) taking him back to her side. "Ten years and the boy will live. "

"Y-years?" the man repeated, gaping at them.

"Off your life," Rumpelstiltskin explained. "Ten years from your natural life. Assuming you don't die of accident or illness first." A pause. "This is a time sensitive offer, you understand. The boy won't live much longer. Tick tock."

"I… yes." The man visibly swallowed, forcing down his fear. "Ten years."

"Deal!" Rumpelstiltskin whipped a contract from thin air, with a quill to match. He was at the man's side in a trice. "Sign here, and it will be as if nothing ever happened."

Hand shaking, the man took the quill and signed in an uncertain hand – the mark of a man who only knew enough letters for his own name. As soon as the quill had lifted from the paper the contract was gone. And then, so was the arrow, alongside any sign it had ever existed. The boy sat up, gasping, wide eyed at the company he'd suddenly found himself in.

Rumpelstiltskin walked back to Belle's side. "And there you have it," he said, taking her arm. They were back in the castle before he finished speaking. Belle shook off her disorientation just in time to hear him add; "So what do you think now? Think you have the stomach for it, dearie?"

Belle looked at him, dressed in his intimidating finery he looked every inch the dark sorcerer that she knew he was. Actually, she thought, he looked rather handsome. "Can you use the years from that man's life for something else?" she asked instead. "Or are they just gone?"

The sorcerer's eyes crinkled pleasantly when he smiled at her. "Clever. They belong to me now, and I may do with them what I please. I may keep them, I may give them to someone else… you never know –"

"When these things might come in handy," she finished with him, and smiled when she knew she'd said the right thing.

There was a moment then, when she realised how close they were standing. Belle's breath caught. She raised a hand and touched the lapel of his coat, feeling the rough, heavy leather under her fingers. "We matched," she said quietly, running her fingers over the leather towards the dark red of his shirt underneath.

"We did," his voice was strangely rough.

Belle's fingers found the silk of his shirt, shockingly soft compared to the leather coat. She could feel the heat of his skin underneath, somehow it made her face flush.

Rumpelstiltskin caught her hand before it could move any further. "Go to bed, Belle."

Belle took a step backwards, though it took her a great deal more willpower than she was used to needing. Now that they weren't so close she could see they were back in her sitting room. She took another step back, towards the door of her bedroom. "Goodnight," she said, and disappeared into the darkness of her room, the candles he had lit before all blown out.

She stayed there, standing by the closed door, for a few seconds afterwards, listening to see if she could tell when he had gone. She heard nothing, but when the sliver of light that crept in under the door went out she knew he had gone. She was alone again, with no-one but the tarnished mirror to watch her.

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In the morning Belle dressed in one of her sensible outfits and put her hair up into a braid. She went about her usual morning routine without thinking about the night before. It was only when she stopped for lunch in the kitchen at it came back to her. The man in the woods, the deal, the boy who was nearly dead.

She was still sure it had been a test, to see if she was truly as tough as she claimed to be. To see if her claim that she saw all of him (and not just the good) had been genuine, or just empty words. Thinking about it, Belle was sure she had passed. She had no idea what that would mean, whether it meant he would take her to witness more of his deals, if she had gained some measure of trust, if it even meant anything at all.

She decided to put it from her head for now. Only time would tell which one would be the outcome.

Tea time brought her at least part of an answer.

"I was thinking that next time you should come with me again," Rumpelstiltskin informed her casually over the lip of his teacup.

A little surprised, Belle paused in putting down the teapot, the steam from her own cup curling curiously in the air. "Next time you're called," she said, hoping for clarification.

"Precisely."

Belle thought about it a moment. It would definitely be interesting, that was for sure. It would also let her see more of the world outside the Dark Castle, and possibly more of Rumpelstiltskin himself too. "Alright," she answered, adding a spoon of sugar to her cup.

And that seemed to be the end of that, as the sorcerer immediately launched into a tale about how he'd acquired the dragon's teeth that decorated the torch rungs on the stairway to the north tower.

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Over the next couple of weeks Belle found herself being taken along to witness more deals in places all around the globe. One day they would be called to the deserts across the ocean to restore rain after a year-long drought, the next they'd be in the icy north. She was beginning to see the truth of Rumpelstiltskin's fame (or infamy, she supposed), how his name was known not only in their own lands but in those so far away she had never even heard of them. For Belle the whole thing was thrilling. She didn't care much for the begging that happened sometimes, that made her uncomfortable, but everything else was an adventure.

She found it curious the way other people reacted to Rumpelstiltskin, especially now that she knew him. Their reactions seemed to range from outright trembling terror to absolute disgust and anger that they needed him at all. Everyone seemed to react differently to him, though they all seemed to hate him in one way or another.

Their reactions to her though, that was the interesting part. They were always exactly the same. As soon as they noticed her their eyes would widen a little. They would look her up and down, as if looking for claws or fangs or as if the reason for her being there could be explained by some physical anomaly. And if she spoke, with her gentle voice and polite manner, they always relaxed just a little – as if they thought she would talk Rumpelstiltskin into giving them a better deal… And when she didn't, they would look at her as if she were even more vile than he was.

"They think beauty is a measure of a person's kindness," Rumpelstiltskin chuckled when she complained of this to him. "They think you must be there to help them, because no creature as lovely as you could possibly be on _my_ side."

"That's just plain ridiculous."

"That's how they think. Look at me." Rumpelstiltskin's hands swept down the air in front of him, indicating his choice of attire as well as the rest of him. "They know I'm vile because they can see it, dearie. They can see from the beginning that I'm a wicked man who can't be trusted."

"Also ridiculous," Belle pointed out, arms crossed, "you're trustworthy enough if they don't try to fool you. You at least never try to break deals."

"A unique turn of mind, Belle." The sorcerer came towards her, dancing out of her reach when she lifted a hand and instead coming up behind her. She felt his hands on her waist, burning hot through the fabric of her gown. "My point is…" he continued, lips close to her ear, "you look like their princesses, their queens, and their ladies. You look like their gentle, beloved daughters and wives. You might even be a fairy, come to save them."

"And when I'm not, they hate me."

"Pretty thing about the common folk," Rumpelstiltskin murmured, the low hum of his voice making her shiver, "a woman they don't personally know is either a saint or a whore. There's nothing in between."

Fingers stroked gently against her stomach, leaving tingles in their wake. "You're teasing," Belle complained, unable to raise her voice above a whisper.

"I'm a bad man," Rumpelstiltskin replied, lips brushing her ear.

Belle bit her bottom lip, wondering if it would be too bold of her to just turn around and kiss him. It seemed to her as if they danced around it, always so close before one or the other backed off. She knew what her reasons were, silly as it was… She had never actually kissed anyone before. Nerves always got the better of her before she could work up enough courage to try. His reasons though… She wasn't sure. She thought it might have something to do with the way he never quite believed her when she said she intended to stay forever. He trusted her enough when he took her on his deals, at least enough to know that she wouldn't make a fool of herself, but he didn't quite seem to be able to trust that she cared.

And while they were obviously _more_ than what they had been before, he seemed reluctant to take it any further than moments like this. Teasing touches that were too intimate to be innocent, but too innocent to be anything else.

His hand brushed against her throat, fingernails barely touching her skin.

She hardly noticed when he backed away from her then, except that now there was suddenly a coolness against her neck and a weight that hadn't been there before.

Belle raised her hand to touch, exploring the new weight with her fingers. It was a necklace or collar of some kind, metal, with a large stone cabochon in the centre. It felt like intricate work, almost like lace. She felt for a catch and found one hidden at the back of her neck, under her hair, and hinges hidden in the pattern of the lacework. She turned to find Rumpelstiltskin watching her far too casually.

"What's this?" Belle asked, rubbing her finger over the stone in the centre of the choker.

"A little something for protection," the sorcerer explained casually. "I've imbued the stone with some of my magic, it should keep you from any harm while you're outside the castle…" he smirked. "It also shows that you belong to me, in case anyone should care to know."

"Thankyou," Belle smiled, "it's lovely." She knew it was, without even seeing it. She knew, because everything else Rumpelstiltskin had given her was lovely. The choker would be no different.

Suddenly something in his wording struck her. Her eyes widened a little in surprise. "You said 'you're'. While _I'm_ outside the castle, without you?"

"Well," Rumpelstiltskin waved a hand airily, "it's about time I let you have a little freedom. It's also spelled to choke you should you try anything silly, so I trust you won't be tempted to run away or incite a mob to come burn the castle down."

Belle was neither offended or disappointed to hear that, especially when the tone was so teasing. She knew him well enough to know that he liked to have an ace up his sleeve in case something went wrong. She also knew that as long as she kept her promises she'd never have to worry about that. "As long as I can still go places with you," she said, and kissed his cheek.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes**: Shit gets real in this chapter, and so does the romance. Also, I'm currently about sixteen thousand words into a sequel set in Storybrooke with no idea how that happened. Help?

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

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She didn't exercise her newfound freedom for another few days, too busy about the castle. When she finally decided it was time to venture out beyond the castle gardens and to the little market town in no-man's-land she decided it was best to do so looking plain and unremarkable. Belle picked one of her less colourful work dresses, a grey overdress and simple white chemise, and topped the ensemble with a plain coloured cloak that would help hide her jeweled choker from view. With a basket over her arm and a purse of coins (that had miraculously appeared in her sitting room the same day Rumpelstiltskin had given her the choker), Belle set out down the hard packed dirt road towards the town.

From his description she had been expected a ramshackle, dingy sort of place inhabited by the kinds of people who didn't show their faces in normal, respectable market towns. Rather, the town looked just like any other, some buildings better than others, and cobbled streets only in the market square and better parts of the town centre.

Belle followed the main street to the market square. A permanent fixture in a trade town like this, the market had stalls that were made of wood and stone as well as tables and carts that could be wheeled in or away as their owners liked. She passed the usual sorts of stalls, bakers, stalls selling fruits and vegetables, preserves, and other food stuffs. Amongst all of that though were stalls selling everything from jewellery to pots and pans, clockwork oddities from across the sea side by side with rolls of fabric and carded yarn. After so long spent by herself in a large, empty castle the markets were a confusing jumble of bright colours, loud noises, and smells both delicious and not.

It took Belle some time to get her bearings, wandering from stall to stall. She picked it up easily enough, observing one or two transactions between buyers and sellers before she dared to do any buying herself. It was something she'd never done before, all of her purchases having either been made for her or in small shops that catered to nobles and rich merchants. She enjoyed it immensely, though her habitual politeness meant she wasn't particularly good at haggling prices down like the other shoppers.

She would have tried being meaner, but her purse didn't feel like it had gotten any lighter so she didn't think she needed to be worried about making every last coin count.

Admittedly the things she bought were mostly just because she could. A pair of lace gloves, some ribbons for her hair, a new comb to replace the old ivory one that had once belonged to M. Belle was tempted to buy herself a mirror, but recalled Rumpelstiltskin's warning that they could be used for spying and eventually decided against it. Better not to tempt fate, she thought.

She took lunch at a local tavern – the cleanest and nicest looking out of the three she saw – glad to eat food she hadn't cooked herself. True, her skills were slowly improving, but she was nowhere near as good as whoever had roasted the vegetables and chicken the tavern advertised as its special.

Belle had just finished eating and was nursing the last of her pint of sweet ale when she happened to overhear a conversation from the next table over. Eavesdropping, she had been told as a child, was rude and the occupation of lowlifes who had nothing better to do. Belle had to smirk a little at the thought that she would probably fit her old nursemaid's description of a lowlife should the woman see her now.

She tuned in to the conversation again just in time to hear "…can't eat, I can't sleep, I don't feel at all like myself. Maybe I should have Doc take a look at me."

"You're going to trust a dwarf that got his medical degree from a pick axe?" Another voice asked dryly. "I wouldn't worry about it. Dwarves don't get sick. It must be in your head."

Bemused, Belle turned enough that she could actually see who was speaking. She had read about dwarves, of course, but there hadn't been any mines near Avonlea so she had never actually seen one. To be honest, she had expected them to be… smaller. She scanned over the group of them as their conversation continued, each one expounding theories on what exactly was wrong with their compatriot.

She watched that one's face, gloomy and wistful at the same time, and frowned a little. The look seemed familiar somehow, as if she had seen it on someone before and should know what it meant. The answer came to her all of a sudden, and the meaning caused her mouth to pop open in surprise. "You're in love," she blurted aloud, speaking to herself. She recalled that look and where she'd seen it, in the tarnished and spotted mirror on her vanity in the evenings as she brushed her hair and thought of Rumpelstiltskin.

It took her a second to realise that every single one of the dwarves at the other table was now looking at her.

"That's impossible," the bossy one snapped. "Dwarves don't fall in love."

"Anyone can fall in love," Belle replied stubbornly, pushing aside her surprise at her own revelation to continue the conversation she'd accidentally joined. "Just because it hasn't happened before doesn't mean it can't _ever_ happen."

"But love is supposed to be good, right?" the dwarf having all of the troubles asked, looking confused. "So why do I feel so bad?"

"Because you're not with who you love," Belle answered him thoughtfully. "When you're in love, you need to be close to that other person. If you're not, or if they don't love you back, love can be awful… I guess that's why they call it being lovesick."

"How do I know she feels the same way? All she talked about was going to see some fireflies – not loving me."

"Well… what exactly did she say about the fireflies?" Belle asked.

"That she was going to go see them on the hilltop tonight. That she heard they were the most beautiful sight in all the land…. What?" he asked, seeing Belle raise her hand to cover her smile.

"I think she was inviting you to go with her," Belle told him, trying not to giggle at the absurdity of her giving love advice to a dwarf in a tavern. "She was telling you she wants to see the fireflies _with you_."

"Oh." The dwarf brightened considerably.

"You're welcome." Belle again wondered if Rumpelstiltskin's sarcasm was rubbing off on her. She stood before she could put her foot in it any further. It was about time she should be heading back anyway. "I should be going, but good luck with your fireflies."

She used the long walk back to the castle to think about her epiphany in the tavern. It wasn't really that surprising. She'd known that she had feelings for Rumpelstiltskin, she just hadn't put a name to them yet. She liked him, his sense of humour, his theatricality, even the way he would become surly if she dared to tell him she cared. His occupation was no obstacle to her, she felt she'd already proven that, and nor was his meanness. He directed it so rarely at her that it was easy to forget that he could kill her with a snap of his fingers if he wished. And though she knew he thought himself ugly his looks were no obstacle to her either. Months of living in the same castle, of sharing tea and supper, had blinded her to any oddness. He was not handsome by any means, but she couldn't deny that there was an attraction. She felt it every time they touched, even if it was just a brush of hands.

The only obstacle, when push came to shove, was her own courage.

Belle didn't see the carriage coming until it passed the fork in the road that led away from the castle and into Starrow, too engrossed in her own thoughts. If she had she might have tried to get off the road and into the woods. As it was she only had time to politely move aside before the carriage drew level.

Her heart sank when she recognised the uniform of the guards that flanked the carriage on horseback. She put up her hood and hoped that the occupant of the carriage wouldn't recognise her. She knew she'd been spotted when a gloved hand slid from the carriage window and motioned for the driver to stop. The door opened, revealing Queen Regina alone in the dark blue interior.

"Your Majesty," Belle said politely, eyes downcast. She resisted the urge to touch the choker where it was barely hidden by her cloak, just hoping that she wouldn't need whatever spells it had been enchanted with.

"Belle, isn't it? From Avonlea?" Regina smiled at her sweetly enough. "Don't tell me you're running away."

"I'm afraid I'm traveling in the wrong direction for that," Belle replied smoothly, lifting her basket a little. "I'm returning from the market."

"I see. It's not often that he inspires loyalty, so I can only assume it's honour that takes you back there."

"You would be wrong on that account too, Majesty," Belle said, her tone painfully polite. "I am my master's loyal servant."

Belle dared a look at Regina's face, feeling an odd flutter of satisfaction when she saw the small frown on the Queen's face. If she was being honest with herself then she had to admit she wasn't entirely sure _why_ she didn't like the Queen. Something about the other woman's bearing, maybe? The way she seemed to behave as if she believed the world owed her something, as if she thought she were better than other people. Whatever the reason, Belle liked the idea that she could make this powerful woman unhappy. It probably wasn't very wise, but Belle reasoned that if she was polite enough then surely Queen Regina could find no fault in the honest truth.

"How lovely for him." The Queen's lip curled, showing minor distaste. Loyalty was obviously a sore spot for her, as was the idea that anyone would show it to Rumpelstiltskin and not to her.

"And for me," Belle dared, bowing her head a little in case she wasn't being sufficiently respectful.

"I see." Regina pressed her lips together into a razor of a smile. She stepped out of the carriage, allowing Belle to see the full majesty of her wine coloured outfit for the first time. Black and red, this time, her dark hair swept up into an elaborate style atop her head. "You're very good. I could almost believe it was the truth. I know you made a deal with him to save your little village and your deal binds you so that you must return or forfeit the town's protection… But there are ways around deals, if you let me help you."

Belle lowered her eyes briefly, then looked back up at the queen, the gesture purposefully demure. "With respect, majesty, I don't need any help."

"Has he told you to say that?" Regina asked, looking at her in the same way predators might look at prey. "Is it part of your contract that you are unable to speak of your plight?"

"Majesty, I would return to him even if Avonlea were burned to ashes. The Dark Castle is my home. My deal with Rumpelstiltskin has no claims on what I can or can't say. I am free to leave as I please and," Belle paused a moment, deciding whether or not to needle the infamous Queen Regina with nothing but a choker to protect her. "I don't want to," she finished, perversity winning out over common sense.

"I see," Regina said again, this time far less pleasant. "You've given your loyalty to the Dark One, have you? And of your own free will."

"I have, your majesty," Belle confirmed demurely.

"And I take it that means he trusts you."

"… I can't be sure," Belle hedged, beginning to think she might have gone too far and wandered into something she couldn't easily get out of.

"Oh, I'm sure he does." Regina smiled at her, the expression sickly sweet and dangerous. She took a step forward, bringing herself a little too close for Belle's liking… though the etiquette demanded of a mere servant in a Queen's presence dictated that she couldn't move away. "He's never let one of his maids leave the castle ground before, too afraid that they'd run off. Obviously he trusts you. Have you been to the north tower yet?"

"I'm not sure I follow, your majesty."

"The north tower," Regina repeated. "His work room. Have you been there yet? Has he let you into any of those mysterious locked rooms in the castle?"

"Locked rooms?" Belle asked, playing at puzzlement and silently wondering how on earth she was going to get away before things got any worse.

"Come now, don't pretend you're stupid. We both know you're rather very, very smart. You'd have to be to gain Rumpelstiltskin's trust. So what is it?" The Queen arched an eyebrow. "Has he let you into the tower?"

"No."

Regina gave her an indulgent smile. "You're not a very good liar, Belle of Avonlea."

"…I should be getting back." Belle took a step back, putting a little distance between herself and the queen. "It's almost tea time." It wasn't. But at this point she'd take any excuse she could muster.

"No, I don't think you do."

"Excuse me?"

The queen smiled. She reached for Belle with a gloved hand, aiming for her shoulder. Belle was too aware of the Queen's reputation and her own lack of power to do anything but let her. But when the queen's fingers touched her cloak something sparked. Regina yanked her hand back, the tips of her gloves singed and smoking. "What…?"

Belle was just as surprised, or she would have done something more than just stand there in shock, staring at the Queen's hand. She had no idea what the Queen had intended, only that it had clearly hadn't been good. Her own hand flew up to the choker hidden by her cloak, and she was surprised to find that the stone was warm against her fingertips.

"Nice try, dearie." The voice came from Belle's right, so close that she jumped a little before recognising who it was. She relaxed when Rumpelstiltskin's arm draped around her shoulders, a clearly possessive gesture. "But she's protected. You won't be getting your claws into my castle that easy."

Regina's pleasant smile was back. "You can't blame a girl for trying," she said, backing off towards her carriage.

"You can blame one for failing," he replied, smirking. "Failing, failing, failing. Off to the markets are we? Here to pick up a little something to cheer yourself up? Good for you, dearie. One should always find time to care for oneself after a loss."

The door to the carriage snapped shut without the queen saying another word. The driver, obviously used to the queen's moods, cracked the whip. The carriage and guards were gone within moments, rattling down the road towards the town.

Belle waited until they couldn't see her anymore before sighing. "If I'd known she would be here I wouldn't have gone out."

"If I'd known," Rumpelstiltskin replied, "I wouldn't have let you. But." He removed his arm from her shoulders and offered it as an escort instead. "No harm done. She'll see that pretty little choker sooner or later… Until then, I have to wonder what you did to get her so angry."

"I just told her the truth," Belle said simply, letting her hand rest on top of the sorcerer's arm. "She didn't seem to like it."

"And what did you tell her?"

"That I'm loyal to you," Belle told him as they began to walk, paraphrasing somewhat. "That I'm not your prisoner and don't need her help to escape. I think I also implied that I enjoy your company."

"Oh yes, she wouldn't have liked that."

"So, she knows I'm yours now… will she try something like this again?"

"She may," Rumpelstiltskin admitted cheerfully, "accepting defeat isn't her strong suit. I doubt she'll try the same thing twice. She can be infuriatingly resourceful at times."

"So I can look forward to other pleasant encounters." Belle shook her head, not looking forward to that idea. This one at least had a pleasant ending. Although, she had to wonder… "Did the choker call you? Would it have done something if you hadn't come?"

"Ah, no. I just_ happened_ to be near enough to hear when darling Regina said my name." The way he said that made her think it wasn't entirely a coincidence and that maybe he'd been keeping an eye on her. Rumpelstiltskin glanced at her, his eyes on the part of her cloak that covered the choker. "If I hadn't been there to stop her then if she had tried to harm you that jewel would have given her a very nasty shock. Lets just say she wouldn't have liked it."

"But that could make things worse," Belle pointed out, not liking the idea of infuriating the infamous Regina with a shock.

"Ah-ah." Rumpelstiltskin stopped. He tugged her cloak out of the way to expose the shining gold choker, the stone grey to match her dress. "When you wear this, dearie," he told her, tapping the stone, "only my magic can touch you. And if anyone ever tries to harm you with something other than magic you'll automatically be brought back to the Dark Castle. Whether I'm about or not."

The reality of the protection he'd given her took a moment to sink in. It was complete protection, Belle realised. It would protect her equally from harm both physical and magical. Nobody could curse her, nobody could grab her, and if they tried she would immediately be spirited away out of harm's reach. Belle stared at him, her eyes wide. She was overwhelmed by the fierceness of his protection, still reeling from the confrontation with the queen or she doubted she'd have had the courage to do it.

Belle leaned forward and kissed him. For the first time on the lips instead of the cheek. Heat blossomed between them, impossibly hot, his lips soft against hers. The rush of sensation was everything the books she had read had promised, exciting and terrifying all at once. Belle pulled back after a moment, about to explain herself, when suddenly she frowned. "Your face…"

For a moment it looked different, lighter, pinker, like a normal man's skin. Rumpelstiltskin's hand raised to touch his own cheek, his face frozen. She saw the effect begin to fade just before he vanished, his eyes wide and wild with shock.

"Rumpelstiltskin?" Belle called, worried more by the look that had been on his face than his sudden disappearance. "Rumpelstiltskin!"

She received no reply. Immediately she dropped her basket and began to run towards the castle. Her cloak slowed her down, tangling around her skirts, so she unclasped it as she ran and let it fall onto the road behind her. Even running as fast as she could it still took her far longer than she wanted to reach the castle. Belle burst through the doors, hair a mess, skirts rumpled and spotted with dirt that had been kicked up in her wild sprint.

She went to his workroom first, taking the stairs two at a time only to find that he wasn't there. She traced her steps back and began to search the castle, slowly working her way down the floors. She found him in her own sitting room, his coat thrown over the back of a chair, his hair even more wild than usual as if he'd been running fingers through it.

Relieved beyond belief, Belle sagged against the doorway, glad to find him all in one piece and looking like himself. "Don't," she gasped, still trying to catch her breath, "don't you scare me like that… Rumpel?" She looked at him, her concern growing again when all he did was pace the room without answering her. Belle pushed herself away from the door frame, her legs feeling like jelly now that she'd stopped moving.

He stopped then, turning to look at her properly. He looked stricken with shock, so much so that if he _were_ a normal man Belle would have been calling for a healer. "True love," he croaked.

"What?" Belle didn't follow. She had no idea what true love had to do with him disappearing on her and pacing her sitting room like a madman.

"The only magic strong enough to break any curse." Rumpelstiltskin crossed the room in two long strides, suddenly right in front of her and gripping her hands so hard it hurt. "The _only_ thing, Belle."

"I don't understand…" Belle tried to pull her hands from his grip. "What are you talking about?"

"It's impossible but the evidence is right there."

"_What's_ there? Rumpel, you're hurting me."

He dropped her hands. "Love. True love, in fact." Rumpelstiltskin turned on his heel, resuming his pacing once more, hands fluttering through the air as he spoke. "Nobody could love me, nobody could ever love the Dark One. It's in every lore, every book that's been written, every story. Nobody chooses the monster. But you," he stopped and pointed at her, the black-tipped finger aimed at her chest like an accusation, "Belle, you. Nobody but you."

"Yes, I love you," Belle was trembling from top to toe, and it was hard to tell whether it was from her punishing run or from the emotions coursing through her, "this isn't the way I'd have liked to tell you, but… I don't understand. What's wrong?"

"Belle, I'm cursed." Rumpelstiltskin let his hands drop to his sides, a gesture she thought had to be purposeful – he was normally so mobile. "This magic I have, the thing I am now, is from a curse. True love's kiss breaks curses."

It took a moment, but then it clicked. Her kiss. True love's kiss. Belle's legs gave out from under her. She dropped to sit on the floor. "I… At least," she said to his shoes, stunned by the weight of realisation, "you can't doubt how I feel."

A manic giggle answered her. "No, I don't think I can. It doesn't work if it's only one sided."

If she hadn't already been sitting on the floor that would have dropped her again. Belle stared up at him this time, not sure he'd even realised what he'd just said. "Oh." She paused. "You love me." Now she felt like giggling herself. The situation hit her full force. She had found true love – a thing so rare and powerful that most people would never feel it. And she had found it with Rumpelstiltskin, wicked sorcerer and Dark One, feared and reviled the world over. Her father would keel over dead from shock if he ever knew. "So… so what happens now?"

"What happens?" Rumpelstiltskin repeated, and laughed.

"Are we lovers?" Belle asked plainly from her position on the floor, unable to make herself get up. (Given the state of her legs she wasn't even sure she _could_ get up.) "Are we to be married? Am I to be your mistress?"

"Nothing happens." The words were sharp, spat out into the air with sudden anger and distaste. "Nothing can happen."

"Why not?" She could only blame the question on tiredness, because the answer came to her even as he began to speak.

"A single kiss could render me powerless," Rumpelstiltskin explained bitterly, resuming his pacing of her sitting room. "That cannot happen. I will not be made powerless, Belle. Not when I'm so close… No. No, dearie, that can never happen again."

"… I won't ask you to," Belle said, feeling her eyes begin to sting. "Your magic is part of who you are, I could never ask you to give it up."

Rumpelstiltskin stopped pacing and looked at her. His eyes, too, were unusually bright. "Oh, Belle." He cracked a dark little smile. "Only you. Only you would never ask to turn the monster into a man."

"I fell in love with the monster," Belle replied, her vision growing fuzzy as her eyes overflowed, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. "What would I do with him as a man?"

"The gods never knew what they did when they created you." Rumpelstiltskin giggled. He crouched down in front of her, a handkerchief suddenly in his hand. He reached out and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. "We can never kiss again," he told her seriously, "we can never risk true love breaking my curse. Not until I have what I need."

"And you wont tell me what that is," Belle guessed, leaning into his touch.

"Not now," the sorcerer agreed, "maybe someday. We'll see."

"But you won't send me away? You won't make me leave?"

"Why on earth would I do that?" he asked, sharp fingernails gently brushing strand of her hair away from her face. "You promised me forever, didn't you?"

"I did," Belle smiled shakily, "and I never break my deals." She burst into tears properly then, overcome with exhaustion both emotional and physical. Arms wrapped around her, warm and comforting. Rumpelstiltskin pulled her close, ignoring the handkerchief and letting her tears soak into the heavy brocade of his waistcoat.

When she finally stopped crying it was to discover that she had somehow wound up lying on the floor, her head cushioned on Rumpelstiltskin's chest, his fingers gently combing through her hair. "I dropped my basket," she said tiredly, "and my cloak. I was so scared when you disappeared, I ran all the way back to find you."

"You surprised me… It's not many who manage that."

"Don't disappear on me again?"

"No promises, love. But I'll try."

The evening passed by in a blur for Belle. She could recall vague memories of brushing her hair properly, of finding her basket and cloak returned, and Rumpelstiltskin saying an awkward goodnight. There were hazy memories of a bath to sooth her aching legs, and then nothing but blankets and warmth and an exhausted sleep.

She woke in the morning to discover that she'd had another change in status. And, it seemed, in rooms. The bed she woke up in was larger and richer than the one she'd had before, the room much more luxurious. There was even a window on one side of the bed that told her she was another floor up and in a different part of the castle closer to the North tower.

A cursory exploration of the suite revealed a bathing room, a sitting room, and a door that took her into a study with a huge desk and very little light. She saw another door on the other side of that room but decided it would probably be best if she dressed herself before exploring.

The wardrobe held more evidence of her newest transition in yet another set of gowns she'd never seen before hanging alongside her old ones. Belle dressed in a green one of those, tied her hair up with the matching ribbon she found on the hanger, and made her way back to the study. The door on the other side opened up into a sitting room that was built in mirror image to her own. The pair of tall boots sitting propped by the door to the hall told her where she was, and who she might find if she went to the bedroom.

That door opened before she could get to it, and Rumpelstiltskin emerged, buttoning the cuffs on a black silk shirt.

"Adjoining rooms?" Belle asked, pleased that the awful afternoon the day before had led to something good.

"Rooms designed for the Lord and Lady of the castle," Rumpelstiltskin replied, gesturing to encompass the suits.

"Am I the Lady of the Dark Castle now?" Belle asked, warmed by the thought.

"Well," he teased, "you're the closest at hand."

"Will you introduce me as your lady?" Belle pressed, teasing as well.

"I might introduce you as my daughter. That will give them something to think about."

Belle decided not to dignify that one with an answer. "I'm going to get breakfast," she informed him instead, leaning in to kiss his cheek. She hesitated at the last second, not sure if she should.

"Best not," the sorcerer sighed. "I haven't seen anything that ever said it had to be lips."

Belle kissed his shoulder instead, where he was covered by his shirt. They said that necessity was the mother of invention. If she wasn't to be sent away then she knew she wouldn't be content pretending that they didn't feel anything for one another, so she figured they would just have to be creative when it came to showing affection.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

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The natural rhythm of Belle's life at the Dark Castle had changed. Able to come and go as she pleased she took to spending some time in the town each week, though she was always careful to dress in her plainer gowns and to keep her choker covered. While she did occasionally see richly dressed people in town Belle felt it best not to draw too much attention. She got enough of that on the days when she went with Rumpelstiltskin on his trips to make deals. She didn't go with him every time, maybe one out of every three, but her presence at his side was (unknown to her) becoming something of a legend.

A legend that she overheard one day while taking lunch at the tavern.

At first she wasn't sure who exactly was being talked about and for a minute or two even assumed that the 'powerful enchantress' they were talking about was Queen Regina. But then someone uttered the phrase 'Lady of the Dark Castle'. All eyes, including her own, glanced in the direction of the castle.

"They say she's even more powerful than he is," the traveler telling the tale said, "a mysterious witch from across the black sea, they say she sold her soul for the power of dark magic. She is as beautiful as he is ugly, but don't be fooled, on the inside she is just as dark and treacherous."

Amused by the assumptions and misinformation, Belle gathered up her things and left. She took great delight in parroting the story back to Rumpelstiltskin during their afternoon tea.

"Ah, yes." He nodded. "I heard a thing or two myself, dearie. According to some very unreliable sources you have eyes as black as night and breathe fire when you speak. Which is of course why you're always so silent."

Belle shook her head. "It seems like people will believe anything."

"They will. They often do. People will believe anything as long as it's something they want to be true. Fire-breathing enchantresses make for a good story, you see."

"I like the truth a little better myself."

"The truth is what we make it," Rumpelstiltskin replied, looking suddenly distracted.

Belle recognised the look. "Are you being called? Is it important?"

"It may well be…" the sorcerer stood, giving her a grin. "I'd tell you to get dressed, but this is a pressing matter." He flicked his fingers in her direction. A tingling sensation passed over her skin, leaving her dressed in one of her fancier dark red gowns. "You'll like this one. This one has a princess."

Belle took a quick last sip of her tea, then set the cup down and took the hand that he offered. She was used to this mode of travel now, only a little disorientated when they appeared at a small, rather decrepit pier. She looked around but couldn't see anyone. "There's nobody here…"

"This isn't the usual sort of call, dearie. Just wait a while, you'll see."

Belle waited, using the time to examine her surroundings (and quietly envying the way Rumpelstiltskin perched on the rickety-looking rail on the side of the pier, the one that looked like it would collapse if anything larger than a sparrow chose to sit on it). After a short time she could hear the sounds of a paddle hitting the water, and turned to see a small boat coming towards the pier. Belle was about to ask Rumpelstiltskin if this was who he was waiting for only to discover that he had disappeared. "Of course," she muttered to herself, figuring it must indeed be something important if he thought it worth putting on a show. Well, the least she could do was add to the theatre. Belle stood in the center of the pier, facing the approaching boat, her hands clasped demurely in front of her.

When the boat pulled up beside the pier she could see that it was being rowed by a young woman. A very pretty young woman at that. Long dark hair, red lips, pale skin. Something about her seemed very familiar. Belle placed it just as the woman climbed onto the pier to tie down her boat – she knew this woman because she'd heard her description before, in detail, at the tavern in the village. This was Snow White, the exiled princess of Starrow and Queen Regina's stepdaughter.

Belle watched her as she looked around, determined brown eyes finally settling on her. "Excuse me," Snow White said, "I'm not sure this is the right place. I'm looking for –"

"Rumpelstiltskin?" Belle finished for her calmly. She knew how things were supposed to go after the many deals she'd witnessed. By now she was even used to playing the part of Rumpelstiltskin's mysterious companion and offering suggestions and prices according to the sorcerer's mood. 'Enchantress', she thought wryly. More like broker.

"Yes," Snow White confirmed. "I was told I could find him here."

"Sometimes," Belle answered, inclining her head a little. "Are you here to make a deal?"

"I… That depends."

"It always depends, dearie." Belle saw Rumpelstiltskin appear on the pier behind Snow White, so she wasn't surprised when he spoke. Snow White, on the other hand, whirled around, a hand automatically reaching for the dagger on her belt. "Ah-ah," Rumpelstiltskin held up his index finger to stop her, "we're all friends here, there's no need for that. Now… Snow White, what can I do for you?"

Snow White looked back at Belle, then at Rumpelstiltskin. "I need a cure," she said plainly.

"What ails you, child?"

"A broken heart," Snow White replied, looking down.

Belle raised her eyebrows at Rumpelstiltskin, silently asking what exactly was going on. People called him for selfish things, for wealth, for health, for protection. They didn't call him because they were in love. The sorcerer masked a shrug as a flourish. "A most painful infliction," he said, just a touch condescending, "but no magic can make him love you. I'm afraid you'll have to look for your cure somewhere else."

"Oh no, that's not the problem." Snow White shook her head, "we can't be together."

"Ah. Now that I can help you with." Rumpelstiltskin took a small glass vial from inside his coat and filled it with water from the river. He shook it a little and the water changed, turning colour. (Belle suspected he'd pulled some sort of vanishing trick there, to transport the potion from his tower. No doubt there would be a puddle of water waiting for them back at the castle somewhere.)

"That will do it?" Snow White asked, eyes on the potion.

"Not yet." Rumpelstiltskin danced forward to pluck a strand of Snow White's hair. The princess ducked, but not in time to avoid his nimble fingers. Rumpelstiltskin dropped a strand of her hair into the potion. "No love is exactly the same, potions like this must be tailored. There." He held out the potion. "Drink this, and you won't love him anymore. You won't even recall his name."

Snow White hesitated. "That seems a little extreme…"

"Love is powerful," Belle told her, stepping in seamlessly, "truly powerful. The cure must be equally so."

"Don't doubt yourself now, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin added, stepping around Snow White to come next to Belle. He smirked at the princess. "Love is powerful indeed. It makes us sick, haunts our dreams, destroys our days. Love has killed more than any disease. It takes root in us like a fungus and the only way to be rid of it is with a gift such as this." He held up the potion, hand stretched out towards Snow White. Belle wondered whether he wasn't talking about themselves just a little.

Snow White started to reach out, then stopped. "What is your price?"

"Just a hair from your pretty head." Rumpelstiltskin held up a long dark strand. "This one will do."

Snow White frowned. "What do you need of my hair?"

"What do you need of it now?" he retorted. "It's been plucked from your head. Do we have a deal?"

Snow White looked hesitant for just a moment. Then she took the potion and walked back to her boat.

"I'll take that as a yes then," Rumpelstiltskin chuckled, tucking Snow White's hair away into a pocket.

Belle waited until Snow White was long gone to ask; "What _do_ you need with her hair? And what was that about?"

"That," Rumpelstiltskin replied, offering her his hand with a flourish, "was about true love."

Belle blinked at him stupidly. He glanced back over her shoulder at the misty river, then at him again. "You just gave Snow White a potion to make her forget her true love?"

"A minor hiccup in her path to true happiness, I assure you. She may forget for a time, but I'm certain her darling Prince James won't let her forget love forever." He offered her his hand again. "Coming, dearie?"

Belle took his hand. A moment later they were in his work room in the north tower. "And the hair?" she asked curiously, watching him go to his potions cabinet and retrieve a small empty glass bottle from a shelf.

"Ah… that I plan on using it to make something I've never been able to bottle. True love. Of course I'll need his hair too, some day."

Belle watched him drop the hair into the bottle and replace the glass into the cabinet. She frowned. "Couldn't you use ours?"

"Oh I've tried," Rumpelstiltskin grinned darkly, "it didn't quite work out. Something about the curse I'd say. And true love is rarer than one might think, Snow White and her Prince Charming are one of a very select few who will ever be in it."

"If you manage to bottle it," Belle pointed out, "you'll have the rarest of them all. Concentrated true love…"

"A necessary precaution against a rainy day."

Belle thought about that. Given everything she'd seen of Rumpelstiltskin's powers it was hard to imagine him ever needing something to boost them. "I'm not sure I want to know what sort of day that will be," she said.

"Clever Belle." Rumpelstiltskin smiled at her. "Yes, it's not the sort of day you hope comes along often."

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It seemed like only a few short days later that Rumpelstiltskin swaggered into the great hall while Belle was mending one of her stockings, a large, fur trimmed cloak slung over one shoulder. He spread the cloak out on the table with a dramatic flourish. "Prince Charming's cloak," he announced.

Belle set aside her mending, looking at the cloak curiously. It took her a second to realise why the cloak might be at all important. When she did her eyes went wide. "Oh! His hair?"

"Well he never specified I couldn't have anything that happened to be on the cloak," Rumpelstiltskin explained gleefully. "Hair included."

Mending stockings could definitely wait, she was far too curious to see whether bottling true love was indeed something he could do. Belle watched as Rumpelstiltskin plucked a short, light brown hair from the cloak. He summoned the potion bottle with Snow White's hair and carefully, very carefully, dropped the shorter hair inside. The reaction was instantaneous. Purple light filled the bottle as the strands twined around one another. The glow receded, liquid beginning to fill the bottle until the glowing hair had dissolved completely. Gleeful, Rumpelstiltskin stoppered the bottle.

"The perfect cure for a rainy day," he said, and Belle suspected he would have been literally hopping with joy if he weren't holding something so rare and precious. "With just a drop to start the storm."

That phrase struck her as particularly ominous. "That thing you wont tell me about?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"That indeed, dearie." Rumpelstiltskin replied, looking at the glowing bottle in a manner that suggested preoccupation.

"Should I assume I won't be seeing you for a day or two?" Belle guessed, sensing that he'd be holed up in his workroom for some time after this.

"Best do," the sorcerer agreed. "This is possibly the most dangerous thing in the world. I can't have any distractions, love. Not when I'm playing about with this."

"Alright," Belle agreed, recognising that the work must be important to him if he wouldn't even hint at what it was about. She respected him enough not to pry, and also knew that if she did she'd only get teasing and lies for her efforts. "I'll be in the library then, when you're done."

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As Belle had assumed she didn't see the sorcerer for the next few days. She spent those days, as she had said, mostly in the library reading whatever caught her interest. The evening of the third day she was just finishing up a book of old folk tales when Rumpelstiltskin appeared carrying a tea tray.

Belle put her book aside, greeting him with a smile. She resisted the urge to ask what he'd been up to, instead telling him; "I was beginning to think I wouldn't see you for the next week."

"Lucky for us I've had a lot of time to plan this little project," Rumpelstiltskin smirked, setting the tea tray down on the small table near Belle's chair. "It's done, and you have my full, undivided attention this evening."

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Time was such a strange thing. It was inconstant, moving too slow during moments of impatience and sorrow, flying by in those times you wanted to last forever. Nights, Belle found, were the quickest of all. Dinners, walks in the evenings, dances in the library and through the halls, nights spent in each other's arms – unbearably chaste, a precaution against true love's power. All of those things passed like a blink of the eye, while in the daytime alone Belle watched the hours stretch on in front of her.

Time did strange things in the Dark Castle. While the days seemed to pass with agonising slowness time ate up the weeks so swiftly. Belle heard her own legend grow in the tales told in the tavern and in the town, and saw it grow in the looks of recognition when she accompanied Rumpelstiltskin on his more interesting deals. In a spare moment she wondered if the legend had spread as far as Avonlea and what her father might think of it. He would most likely think her bewitched, she realised. As would anyone else who heard the true story. Belle wondered if she should feel sad at that idea, instead of just a simple calm acceptance of the facts. Should she mourn the loss of respect from people who had never known her true self? Should she be sad that her father would forever think of her as his poor bewitched daughter?

She put the thought from her mind, instead choosing to concentrate on things more pleasant. The way her cooking improved in leaps and bounds now that she'd found a section of cookery books in the library. The roses that bloomed in the wild forest of a garden outside. The glow of Rumpelstiltskin's hands in the firelight of an evening when he sat and spun while she read by the hearth.

If it weren't for their absurd chastity Belle would have thought her life perfect. She had everything she needed to keep herself occupied. She had travel and adventure through Rumpelstiltskin's deals, and a reputation (though entirely unearned) as a powerful sorceress in her own right. She was needed, and loved, and useful. She was her own self, and Rumpelstiltskin never looked at her any different whether she dressed in fine gowns and jewels or in her practical 'servants' clothes.

Other people though… Other people treated her very differently depending on what clothes she wore.

The people of the village knew her well enough now that she was greeted by name at her favourite tavern and the sellers in the marketplace knew they were more likely to catch her attention with books and thread rather than fine cloth and frippery. To them she was only Belle, who lived most likely in Starrow, and who might be a servant girl in some noble's house. She dressed the part for them in her plain, practical gowns, always sure to cover her choker with either a cloak or a scarf when she visited.

For the people she visited on business with Rumpelstiltskin she dressed the part of the Enchantress. Bold, dark coloured gowns that dripped with beads and sparkling chips of precious stone. Secretly she liked those outfits more, if only because it felt more like being herself when she could bare her choker and show her feelings to the world with the way her outfit matched his.

She was musing on this as she swept in the study, only a little before midday, when Rumpelstiltskin appeared in a puff of purple smoke. "It's time!" he crowed gleefully, hands clapping together. "It's time! Get ready, dearie, we're going on a trip!"

Belle propped the broom against the big oak desk that neither of them ever used and turned to face him. "Where are we going?" she asked, used to such interruptions by now. "Should I dress warmly or lightly?"

"Doesn't matter. It's a forest. An infinite forest. It doesn't vary much in anything, temperature included." Rumpelstiltskin paused thoughtfully, head cocked slightly to the side, "and no need to hurry. It's infinite. Our quarry isn't exactly going anywhere."

Belle arched an eyebrow as she undid the apron covering the front of her skirt. "Our quarry?" she repeated, and walked through into her sitting room knowing that he would follow (he did, hopping along light and birdlike behind her). "So you haven't actually been called for."

"Not precisely," Rumpelstiltskin admitted with a chuckle.

Belle disappeared into her dressing room to change, choosing a gown of black and gold. They were going to a forest, so it seemed appropriate to pick something that would stand out against the greenery. "Do they know we're coming at all then?"

"Probably not."

Belle smiled at how pleased he sounded. She shook her head fondly.

"Poor idiot doesn't realise he needs help yet," Rumpelstiltskin added in explanation. "He probably won't be too grateful."

"Ah… and why are we offering help then?" The dress laced up the back, but Belle had threaded the laces so that all she had to do was pull the strings from the middle and the bodice would pull tight against her. A quick, simple knot and she was ready to go.

"This particular idiot has a skill I need him to use, and incentive enough to use it if we give him the right motivation." Rumpelstiltskin grinned at her as she emerged from the dressing room. He offered her his arm with an exaggerated courtly bow. "Circumstances couldn't be better really."

Belle took the sorcerer's arm with a smile. "Then let's go make a deal."

The familiar sensation of traveling by magic washed over her and suddenly they were in a small clearing in a very large forest. The trees that surrounded them were tall enough that she could hardly see the tops, their trunks massive. Enough sunlight filtered through the canopy to splash the ground with dapples of sunlight and shadow, dried leaves and twigs crackling underfoot. Belle looked around, then at Rumpelstiltskin. Against the greens and browns of the forest their black and gold clothing stood out in stark contrast. The air had a pleasant, clean smell.

Belle paced the edges of the clearing, trailing her fingers gently over tree bark and branches.

She had almost made her way back to Rumpelstiltskin when someone crashed through the forest into the clearing, skidding to a stop as the sight of them both.

"Lost, are we?" Rumpelstiltskin drawled, and Belle didn't have to guess that this was who they were there for.

The man, tall, dressed in clothes that looked as if they'd seen better days, glared at the sorcerer. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, obviously familiar enough with Rumpelstiltskin to know that his presence was no coincidence.

"Can't you tell?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, spreading his hands with a gleeful smile, "we were just out for a pleasant stroll, but… I can always find the time to help a prince in need."

The prince – and given the lack of young princes around, Belle would guess that this one was 'Charming' – looked at Belle as if just noticing her, then frowned and looked back at Rumpelstiltskin. "I don't need your help," he said, and moved to leave.

"No, I think you do," the sorcerer said tauntingly, "this is the infinite forest. It is, as the name implies, _infinite_. There's no way out. Well… except for my way."

"I want nothing from you."

"Not even… this?" Rumpelstiltskin held up a ring that Belle was sure he hadn't had before.

The prince's eye's widened, hand flying to his belt pouch. "My mother's ring. It was just…. How did you get it?"

"Magic," Belle spoke up calmly. She had no idea what skill it was that the prince had that Rumpelstiltskin wanted the use of, but she could guess at least part of what he intended to bargain for. "Which is also the only way to get in or out of the forest."

"Exactly, dear," Rumpelstiltskin nodded, "thankyou." He flipped the ring in the air and caught it again, dramatics intended to draw the eye to the way the stone had begun to glow. "I've enchanted this ring," he told the prince, "now the closer you get to Snow White the brighter it will glow. Interested?"

Prince Charming stepped forward, hand outstretched. "Give it to me."

"Ah!" Rumpelstiltskin waved a hand. The ring disappeared from view. "Nobody gets something for nothing," he told the prince. "But I'll be more than happy to make you a deal…"

"No." The prince's voice was firm. His blade, when he drew it, was an even firmer declaration. "No more deals."

Belle took that as her cue, trusting that both Rumpelstiltskin and the enchanted choker would protect her. She stepped forward and put her finger on the tip of Prince James' blade. "Please," she said softly, calmly, the voice of feminine reason that so often tricked people into thinking she was on their side, "there's no need for violence. I understand how you feel, I really do, but fighting will only delay the inevitable."

"Inevitable," Prince Charming repeated in disgust. He looked at Belle, hazel eyes assessing what he saw. She had no idea what he thought of her, what he thought she was telling him, but the sword still came down until it was held loosely by his side, tip pointed at the ground. The prince leaned around Belle to address Rumpelstiltskin. "I need nothing from you, I want nothing from you, and there will be no deals."

"Very noble of you," Rumpelstiltskin taunted, "very brave. And worth absolutely nothing. Without my help you will never get out of this forest. You will never find your beloved Snow White. You will die here, a brave, noble fool."

"We would help you for free if we were able," Belle added, the lie coming easily to her tongue as a means to push the prince along as she played her part to make the bitter pill easier to swallow. "But a deal is in the rules, sir. Magic without a price is magic that is unstable, as likely to hurt as it is to help."

"And why would you want to help me?" Prince Charming asked sceptically.

"Why? Because we both want the same thing," Rumpelstiltskin told him, his sly smile teasing, "you and your true love to be together."

Belle could see that Prince James was caught off guard by that. In fact, Belle was caught off guard by that, though she didn't let it show. The prince fumbled, staring in disbelief. "You want me and Snow to be together?"

"Of course. True love is precious. It must be protected."

"What would you know of love?" the prince challenged.

Rumpelstiltskin giggled. Even Belle, who wasn't entirely sure why Rumpelstiltskin cared about Snow White and Charming, hid a laugh behind her hand. The Prince looked between them both with dawning understanding (and just a touch of horrified fascination). "So it's true then," he said finally, and sheathed his sword. "Rumpelstiltskin and the Enchantress."

As usual, Belle decided against correcting the assumption that she too could use magic. A bit of a safety gauge, she thought. People would be less likely to try anything with her if they thought she could turn them into toads. "As true as rumours get," she replied demurely, given that she suspected the rumours didn't involve their inability to so much as kiss.

"True love," Rumpelstiltskin added, "is the most powerful thing in the world. It must be protected at all costs." He produced a glowing bottle from thin air. Belle recognised it immediately, and thought she might have an inkling about the other half of the deal.

The prince frowned. "I'm not sure I understand… what do you want me to do?"

"This needs to be put somewhere safe, dearie," the sorcerer explained, "somewhere it will be protected. You do that for me, and I will give you the ring."

"And get me out of the forest."

"Well." Rumpelstiltskin waved a hand. Purple smoke filled the clearing, when it dispersed all three of them were standing on a pebbled beach, a cliff top castle visible in the distance. "That counts as part of the 'putting it somewhere safe' part of the deal."

"I haven't said yes," the prince said, eyes narrowed.

Belle smiled. She could see as well as Rumpelstiltskin could that the prince was caught. "You won't say no."

"And if you do," Rumpelstiltskin added cheerfully, "you go back to the forest. Forever. What's it to be?"

"…very well. What do I need to do?"

Rumpelstiltskin clapped his hands. When he opened them again it was to reveal an intricately decorated gold egg. The egg opened, revealing an interior lined in silk, the true love potion nestled in the middle. The sorcerer closed the egg again and tossed it to the prince. "In that castle," he said, pointing to the cliffs, "there is a beast, a dragon. Get this into the dragon, and our deal is done."

"That's all?"

Belle hid a smile at the prince's sarcasm. "That's all," she confirmed.

The prince was silent a moment, staring at the pair of them as if he weren't entirely certain they were sane. Then he tucked the egg under one arm and began walking, setting off in the direction of the castle. Belle waited until he was out of earshot before asking; "A dragon?"

"A witch, actually," Rumpelstiltskin replied casually, perching himself on a rock. "She turns into a dragon."

Belle shook her head, amused despite herself. "You're impossible. I hope he doesn't die."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Our charming Prince has already defeated one dragon."

Belle turned to look at the distant castle. It was a good walk away and the Prince also had to battle a dragon before making his way back. They'd have something of a wait before then. She looked at the water and sighed. "I should have worn a shorter dress," she mused.

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled. "I can fix that for you, if you like…"

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* * *

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Belle was wading in the shallows looking for interesting shells, dress now shortened to just below her knees, when the Prince came trudging up the beach, soaked to the bone. "I've done what you asked," the prince announced wearily, "now return my ring to me."

"Of course." Rumpelstiltskin leaped up from his rocky perch, producing the ring from thin air. "Here you are. One enchanted ring."

The Prince took the ring and slid it onto his little finger. "Thank you," he said the words grudgingly.

"Hold on a minute," Rumpelstiltskin cocked his head to the side. "Something's missing…" He flicked his fingers towards the prince, the same gesture he used when Belle didn't have time to change and needed to dress in a hurry. And, like Belle's plain gowns were transformed, the prince's clothes changed to something much finer.

"Very nice," Belle approved, wading out of the water and walking carefully across the pebbled beach to stand next to Rumpelstiltskin. "Now you're definitely ready," she smiled at the Prince.

The Prince frowned at them, hand settling on the hilt of his sword (which also seemed to have been replaced with something nicer than the somewhat battered sword he'd been carrying before ). "Why do you want us together?" he asked, "what do you get out of it?"

Rumpelstiltskin smiled, taking Belle's hand in his. "I'm a fan of true love, dearie," he said simply, "and, more importantly, what it creates." He chose that moment to bring them back to the Dark Castle, so Belle didn't get to see the Prince's reaction.

Wet feet on cold stone was not pleasant, so Belle wrapped her arms around Rumpelstiltskin's waist for something that was. "What it creates?" she repeated curiously, not about to let that hint just slip through her fingers.

The sorcerer grinned at her slyly. "Clever Belle. Are you sure you want to know?"

"I know that Prince Charming and Snow White are somehow important, and now you've just hinted that their child will be too." She paused, thoughtful. "You were talking about a child, weren't you?"

"I might have been," Rumpelstiltskin confirmed.

"An important child," Belle prompted.

"A rare and unusual child, born of true love. You see, my darling Belle, such children are often the pivots on which the world turns."

Belle vaguely recalled something she'd heard a long time ago, about Rumpelstiltskin's ability to see the future. So far in her time at the Dark Castle she hadn't seen any evidence suggesting that he truly could, but she wasn't about to discount the idea either. "And you know that this child is going to be important somehow," she guessed. "Important enough that it's imperative that their parents remain together long enough to actually have the child."

"Exactly." Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward, briefly pressing his forehead against hers – as close as they could come to kissing without risking his curse. "Important enough that some unpleasantness might have to be endured sooner or later." He pulled away from her, grin back on his face. "But that's a worry for another day. True love has been safely tucked away, Prince Charming is on his way to save the Princess, and for this evening there is no work left to be done."

"I do like when there's no work left," Belle said quietly, feeling her lips curl into an involuntary smile.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

**Notes**: So... this is the second-to-last chapter! Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. If you're lucky, I might have a sequel ready just after this one finishes up.

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* * *

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From then time seemed to flow in leaps and bounds, each one eating up more and more time between the next. Belle and Rumpelstiltskin watched from a distance as the power of True Love deposed Queen Regina and returned Snow White to her rightful place as monarch, soon to be wed to the exiled Prince James.

Belle listened to each new bit of news with only half an ear, knowing that if she thought about it more than that she would be filled with a burning sense of curiosity as to why exactly their future child was so important. Instead she concentrated on her work – both as caretaker of the Dark Castle and as Rumpelstiltskin's companion. She amused herself by listening to stories of the Enchantress in the village, listening to her legend and the rumours surrounding the castle.

It seemed like only a short time before Rumpelstiltskin announced that Queen Regina had been captured, startling Belle by appearing in a puff of smoke in the kitchen while she was cooking.

Belle had almost dropped the pan of biscuits she was making, shocked by the sorcerer's sudden appearance in _her_ domain. She caught the pan before it slipped from her grasp, even as Rumpelstiltskin announced cheerfully; "The lovebirds have finally caught Regina. I hear she's to be executed! What do you say to attending, dearie? It should be good fun."

Belle dropped her biscuit pan onto the kitchen table, dusting her hands off on her apron. "You want to take me to Regina's execution?" she repeated, not sure she had heard right.

"It will be the execution of the century," Rumpelstiltskin informed her, perching himself atop the kitchen bench near the water pump. "And just imagine the amusement, watching darling Snow White try to go through with actually killing someone. That alone should be worth the trip."

Belle considered. She wasn't squeamish about the idea of executions, though she'd never actually seen one. And she truly didn't like Regina, so the idea of never having to hear about her again (except perhaps in the history books) was appealing to her. But something in the way Rumpelstiltskin had spoken just then… "You don't think they'll actually do it," she said, looking at him suspiciously. "You think they'll cancel the execution at the last minute, don't you?"

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled. "Oh no, dearie. I _know_ they will. Just as surely as I know that 'Queen' Regina will never rest as long as Snow White is alive and well. Perfect circumstances for a deal maker, wouldn't you say?"

"You want to take me to watch Regina not being executed," Belle stated, just to be sure she understood. "And then to make a deal with… her? No. She'd only ask for something to help her destroy the happy couple. With… Snow White?"

"You'll like the deal," Rumpelstiltskin promised, adding in a teasing singsong; "It renders Regina almost powerless…"

Belle smiled at him, amused by his cheerfulness as much as by the idea of a powerless Regina. "What on earth do you wear to an execution?" she asked by way of reply.

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* * *

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The event was, appropriately, held on a gloomy overcast day that threatened rain with each passing minute. It seemed like the entirety of the kingdom was there, including a small host of fairies who seemed unusually keen to see someone put to death. Disguised under bland coloured cloaks, Rumpelstiltskin and Belle blended seamlessly into the crowd of onlookers. They wormed their way to the front of the crowd and watched.

For a moment it had looked as if Regina would actually die, but Snow White's goodness did indeed prove stronger than her good sense. Rumpelstiltskin had chuckled softly when the arrow stopped in mid-air, moments before it would have plunged into the former queen's chest. "There you go," he muttered to Belle. "Snow White's goodness is far too predictable."

Belle sighed. "I _am_ a little disappointed," she confessed softly, which only made him laugh again.

The crowd slowly dispersed, but they had remained behind, instead slipping into the castle. Belle had been fascinated, never having been in a castle so grand. She had grown up in one much smaller and simpler, and her father had been too keen to keep her close to send her to become a lady in waiting at court. Even the Dark Castle paled in comparison to this one, rich though it was.

Late in the evening, when the stars had come out and the torches were lit, Rumpelstiltskin took her to a small courtyard. "The royal family's personal courtyard," he told her quietly, mouth close to her ear. "Complete with the apple tree planted by Regina long ago. This is the most likely place for us to come across the princess."

"At least without her screaming and trying to have us arrested?" Belle suggested, looking about the courtyard.

Rumpelstiltskin flashed her a wicked grin. "Come now, dearie. Does she really seem the type to scream?"

Belle was about to reply when the sound of footsteps filtered into the courtyard. Rumpelstiltskin flicked his fingers, their cloaks disappearing to reveal the rich dark clothes underneath. They matched again, Belle's high-collared black and red gown a feminised version of the sorcerer's attire. They turned towards the sound of the footsteps in time to see who they belonged to.

Snow White entered the courtyard looking troubled, and stopped dead when she saw them waiting. "Rumpelstiltskin, Enchantress, what brings you here?"

"You have to ask?" Rumpelstiltskin replied flippantly, at his theatrical best, "we came to watch the execution. Why, I even had my heart set on a wee souvenir. It's all very disappointing."

"I won't apologise for saving her life," Snow White said, chin tilted to a stubborn angle, "not when there's a chance she might change."

Belle didn't have to fake her surprise at that. She supposed it took a better person than she to think such a thing. "You think she'll change?" Belle asked, forcing the incredulity out of her tone. "Redeem herself?"

"And how do you propose to accomplish such a feat?" Rumpelstiltskin added, sounding amused.

Snow White hesitated, then she sighed. "I don't even know if it's possible. Maybe I'm just fooling myself."

"Perhaps," Rumpelstiltskin agreed, "or perhaps all you need is a little proof one way or another." He produced a knife from inside his coat, the shine of magic washing over it for a second. Belle looked at the knife, arched an eyebrow slightly, and not for the first time thought that things might go more smoothly if she knew his plans before they left the castle. Instead she could only make her best guess and hope it was what he intended.

"A test," Belle offered the princess, when Rumpelstiltskin didn't seem inclined to explain straight away. "A way to determine if she is truly capable of change."

Snow White looked at the knife, lips pressed together. "Why should I trust you?" she asked shrewdly, "when I know you want the Queen dead? You never make a deal without a price."

Belle and Rumpelstiltskin exchanged glances. Hers silently asking what he wanted, his highly amused and just a little teasing. It was a face she recognised from previous deals. One that told her that he had absolutely no intention of telling Snow White the finer details of what he planned, or if there were any flaws or catches to watch out for. Belle arched an eyebrow slightly, then turned back to the princess.

"This isn't a deal exactly," Belle told Snow White, hoping she hadn't read him wrong, "this is more of a bet."

"I bet she'll fail," Rumpelstiltskin added pleasantly, telling her that she'd made the right move, "the Lady bets that she won't. You'll merely be facilitating our little gamble, dearie."

"That still doesn't tell me how I can trust you. How can I know no-one will get hurt?"

"Ah, now we get to the fun part." Rumpelstiltskin offered Snow White the knife. "This blade has a special bit of magic attached to it, add something that belongs to the queen and it will be specially tailored to her alone. If she uses it to try and kill you, if she even so much as nicks your skin, she will be bound forever by its spell."

"A protection spell," Belle continued, realising that would be the only logical way to make sure Regina couldn't harm Snow White or the Prince.

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. "She will be powerless to hurt you, or the Prince, in this land ever again."

"It's win-win for you no matter what happens," Belle pointed out, smiling politely at the princess. "If she fails you're protected, if she doesn't…" Which Belle highly doubted, given how unpleasant the woman was. "Then there's hope for her after all."

Snow White looked back and forth between them, trying to decide whether she should trust them or not. "You just need something of Regina's?"

"A bit of clothing, a drop of blood, a hair, almost anything will do." Rumpelstiltskin grinned. "What do you say, dearie?"

Snow White took the blade. "I need your promise that nobody will be hurt."

"Cross our blackened, shriveled wee hearts," Rumpelstiltskin replied, tracing a cross over the breast of his coat. Belle mimicked the gesture a beat later.

"Alright. I know where to find something of Regina's." Snow White turned to leave, then stopped. She looked back over her shoulder. "What do you get if you win?"

"Ah-ah," Rumpelstiltskin held up his index finger, "that's personal."

Belle giggled at the look on Snow White's face. "I'm sorry I asked," the princess said dryly.

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* * *

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Predictably, Regina failed her test. They weren't there to see it of course, but Rumpelstiltskin knew just the same. How exactly he knew Belle wasn't sure, but she trusted his word when he said that Regina had failed abysmally and attempted to stab the princess. As punishment the Queen was banished, retreating to a lonely castle at the edge of the lands to lick her wounds and seethe in silence.

Belle expected that to be the end of it, at least for a while. Unfortunately she was proven wrong just days later when the irate, recently exiled Queen appeared on the doorstep with a small contingent of guards. Belle was in the Great Hall dusting the curios in the cabinets or she might not have noticed the pounding on the door. Or the Queen's sharp voice demanding that Rumpelstiltskin open the doors.

Belle spared a moment's thought for the fact that she was dressed in a simple blue gown for cleaning. She had hoped that the next time she saw the Queen it would be looking like the Lady of the Dark Castle, and not the maid she'd been when they had first met. There was no time to change – she had a feeling that if the door didn't open in a timely manner then Regina might be silly enough to try blasting it open with magic – so Belle simply sighed and made her way to the doors.

She opened them just enough to show herself to the small party outside and stood there in the way so that Regina couldn't push past her and enter. "Can I help you?"

"I need to see Rumpelstiltskin," Regina told her sharply, "_now_."

Belle considered telling the former queen to go away and shutting the door on her face… only she had a feeling that Rumpelstiltskin would prefer to see if Regina had anything interesting to say. As much as she disliked Regina she was obviously important in some manner, if only because she seemed intent on interfering with other people who Rumpelstiltskin deemed important. "Your guards will wait outside," Belle told her instead, in a tone that made it clear that she was not just a servant in this castle.

For a moment Regina looked as if she were going to argue, then her eyes lit on Belle's choker and her lips twisted unpleasantly. "Fine."

Belle stepped aside to let the other woman into the castle. "Please do come in."

Regina swept into the great hall as if she owned it, only to come up short. Dark eyes took in the small changes that had occurred over the months – the fresh red roses in the vases around the room, the clean and sparkling chandeliers, curtains that were actually capable of opening.

Belle was not keen on making Regina feel comfortable. "He'll be down in a minute," she told the former queen, and then promptly walked off towards the kitchen.

She was there for long enough to have started brewing a pot of tea when she heard noise from the great hall. The familiar sound of Rumpelstiltskin's voice drew her back out into the hallway in time to hear him telling Regina that he had no intention of reversing the protection spell on Snow White and the Prince.

"The deal is binding," Rumpelstiltskin said to the queen, seemingly unbothered by the way she was glaring at him as he examined his dark nails. "You are completely unable to harm them in any way in this land. Forever."

"So there is nothing I can do?" Regina demanded, clearly frustrated. "Nothing I can do to harm them in this land ever again."

Rumpelstiltskin smiled then, a sly look on his face. "In _this_ land," he repeated. "Should they happen to be in another land… Well, that would be different."

The change that passed over Regina's face was almost comical. Momentary puzzlement gave way to a sudden smile. "I see," she said.

"And you like to say we're not friends."

Regina didn't reply, instead sweeping back out the open door to her guards outside. Rumpelstiltskin turned to Belle, looking very pleased with himself.

"You look awfully happy about something," Belle noted, somewhat suspicious. Especially since she'd never heard Rumpelstiltskin refer to Regina as a 'friend' before.

"Perhaps I am," Rumpelstiltskin agreed. An arm snaked around her waist, the sorcerer suddenly at her side. "Things are coming together nicely, you see. Very nicely indeed."

"Your rainy day?" Belle asked, but received no answer except an oddly catlike nuzzle before the sorcerer danced away. "I made tea," she told him, seeing she wouldn't get a sensible answer straight away.

"And biscuits?"

"Of course."

"Lovely. And then, this evening, how do you feel about going to a ball?"

Belle considered, for the moment putting her curiosity about the mystery of the rainy day aside. "Are we actually invited, or are we just going to show up?"

Rumpelstiltskin gave her a wicked grin. "What do you think, dearie?"

Belle had to hide a small giggle. Of course they weren't invited. Who on earth would invite Rumpelstiltskin and the Enchantress to a ball?

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* * *

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Prince Thomas' kingdom was a small but prosperous one. The royal castle was lovely, made of white marble, and so was the grand ballroom. They made little fuss when they appeared, simply popping into the room next to one of the marble columns and blending in with the crowd… Although with the way they were dressed, and Rumpelstiltskin's distinctive appearance, it was less easy to blend in than it was to just appear without a fuss.

Belle thought the sorcerer looked lovely, but she knew her opinion wasn't a popular one. He was certainly dressed well, in colours that matched her own outfit of dark blue. He danced well too, something she'd happily taken advantage of in the Dark Castle, and guided her about the room smoothly. It was on the dance floor that they began attracting attention, guests who had actually been invited beginning to notice the snake in their midst. Eventually their presence gained the attention of the Prince and his newly wed Princess and that was that.

A guard stopped them at their dancing, the rest of the room grown quiet.

"Oh, don't mind us," Rumpelstiltskin told the room at large, "do carry on with your little celebration."

"What do you want?" Prince Thomas asked. (Belle noticed that royalty seemed to have a habit of phrasing things this way. She thought it might be because they were used to commanding people.)

Rumpelstiltskin raised a hand in a gesture of secrecy. "Are you sure you want to get into it in front of all these guests?"

Belle was interested to note that it was Cinderella, not Prince Thomas, who suddenly looked nervous. She clutched her prince's arm. "Thomas…"

"The parlour then," the prince said reluctantly. He motioned for the rest of his guests to carry on. "Everything is fine, everybody enjoy yourselves and we'll be right back."

The parlour turned out to be a small private study. Prince Thomas waited until they were all inside, and then shut the door firmly behind them.

"Well, this is nice," Rumpelstiltskin remarked. "Isn't it nice?"

"It is nice," Belle agreed, picking up a book from the desk to flick through it before putting it back. "We don't normally receive such a kind welcome."

"This isn't kindness," Prince Thomas told them. "Now, what do you want?"

"I merely come to announce when I will be collecting my price," Rumpelstiltskin replied, taking out a parchment contract from inside his coat. He flicked the contract open and read from it. "And upon completion of the deal Cinderella offers to me her most precious possession, that being her first born child." He smiled sweetly, "and since you've both been so accommodating I gather that will be in, oh, just under seven months time?"

Cinderella's hands jumped to her stomach, holding herself protectively. Belle gave Rumpelstiltskin a sharp look. She hadn't heard about this one. He gave her a small shrug in reply, completely unrepentant.

"Your price?" Thomas spoke up, practically shaking in anger.

"I'm sorry, Thomas," Cinderella spoke up soft and ashamed, "I made a deal to get to the ball – only to get there, I never intended… I didn't know -"

"You didn't read it, you mean," Rumpelstiltskin interrupted to show her the lines on the contract. "It's quite clear. But don't worry," he gave them both nasty smile, "you can always make more. Nine months time, dearie. And don't be late."

They disappeared then, reappearing the in the North tower. Belle frowned at Rumpelstiltskin, hands on her hips. "A baby, Rumpel? Really?"

"You have no idea how many childless couples out there would do anything for a child," Rumpelstiltskin told her simply, not at all sorry. "I don't intend on keeping it, I intend on giving it to someone else for something far more useful."

Belle sighed. "At least tell me it will have a good life. I can't imagine you selling a child that's just going to be… eaten, or something else just as horrible."

"The little prince will have a lovely life," Rumpelstiltskin assured her, "he may be poor, but he will be loved and cherished, and that is all a child asks for. If it helps any it was unintended," Rumpelstiltskin added, looking thoughtful, "unfortunately one can only take a fairy's wand when the fairy is dead, and they only show up when they're about to do some good deed or other. Sweet little Cinderella just happened to be desperate enough to ask for a deal even after seeing her fairy godmother explode into fairy dust."

Clearly, Belle thought, that made Cinderella not half as sweet as she looked. "Well you better hope she decides to hold up her end of the bargain," Belle replied sensibly, "nobody in that room looked too happy to learn those terms."

"Stupid people will always be trying stupid things," Rumpelstiltskin said, and flicked her shoulder, nails tapping against the embroidery on her gown. "Clever Belle, do you really think those two could do anything to me I didn't want them to?"

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* * *

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Two months later when she was washing dishes after her breakfast a bluebird flew into the window with a heavy thump. Normally Belle wouldn't have paid it much mind past a fleeting thought for the shame of such a pretty thing breaking its neck, only she could have sworn she saw it carrying a letter.

Drying her hands on her skirt she went outside to find it, and sure enough the dazed little bird was indeed carrying a small envelope tied to its leg. A little suspicious, Belle carried the bird indoors and untied the letter from its leg. She unfolded the paper and read its contents, then called aloud; "Rumpelstiltskin, a bluebird wants to know if you'll meet with Cinderella."

"What?" Rumpelstiltskin asked from behind her. "A blue – ah. A bluebird. One of Snow White's I expect, she has a knack with little feathered things." He took the letter from her and read it over. Belle watched him read it once, then twice, before he folded it up and tucked it away.

"You're not thinking of going, are you?" Belle asked, hands on her hips. "It's obviously some sort of trap. Snow White's bluebird, a meeting in some place that they've chosen, a promise of a new deal… they're obviously plotting something."

"Yes, I'd say they are." Rumpelstiltskin produced ink and parchment from thin air and scrawled a quick message for the bird to send in reply.

"You're not going are you?" Belle pressed.

"Oh, I am. I must, love."

"But it's a trap! What if they kill you?"

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled darkly. He attached his reply to the bird and sent it off in a puff of smoke. "There's not a thing they know of that could do that. The worst they could do is contain me for a while and I doubt they have the necessary knowledge."

"They must be awfully confident if they're sending messages," Belle pointed out. She didn't like anything about the proposed meeting or the message that had been delivered. Something about it just didn't seem right.

"Of course, dearie. They wouldn't have sent the bird if they weren't already prepared." Rumpelstiltskin smiled at her. He stroked her cheek, fingernails just barely pricking against her skin. "Don't worry yourself a bit. I can handle anything they care to try."

Belle was not entirely convinced, but she knew that if she argued nothing would come of it… except maybe forcing the sorcerer into a bad mood. It would do no good to have him lock himself in the north tower in a grump. All that would do is make it more likely that he would go alone, and Belle wanted to be there in case her diplomacy was needed to help diffuse any nasty situations that might arise.

Two nights later it was time. Belle dressed in one of her less opulent gowns, aiming to look demure and unassuming while still wearing the mantle of the Enchantress. Rumpelstiltskin had gone the opposite direction, wearing his most intimidating coat and boots that laced up above the knee. It was obvious he had chosen his attire to make a statement as much as Belle had chosen hers to appear reasonable and kind. Side by side they looked like opposites on a scale. It must have been jarring to see them holding hands.

Fingers laced together they appeared in the proposed meeting spot at precisely the time chosen. Cinderella stood alone by the well, though Belle was sure all of them knew full well she never would have come on her own.

"Well, well, well," Rumpelstiltskin began, as unpleasantly as possible, "you're starting to show. A little bird told me you wanted to speak?"

Cinderella hesitated, looking at Belle as if she somehow hadn't expected her to be there. (Belle was almost insulted. She'd heard the talk. By now everyone knew that if you called for Rumpelstiltskin you were just as likely to get her too.) "Yes," she said finally, "I'd like to alter the bargain."

Rumpelstiltskin arched an eyebrow. "That's not what I do," he said flatly.

"I think you'll want to," Cinderella replied, clearly trying hard to keep her eyes on his face and not the ground. "I'm having twins."

Belle and the sorcerer exchanged glances. Rumpelstiltskin's lips curled upwards in a derisive sneer, Belle's turned down in a small frown. The sorcerer looked back at Cinderella with a wide smile on his face. "Is that so?" he asked pleasantly, hopping forward towards the princess. "Lets have a look!"

Cinderella's hands folded over her stomach protectively, an instinctive gesture that clearly said she wanted to keep Rumpelstiltskin as far away from her as possible. Belle watched the other woman carefully. "You're offering to give up both?" she asked softly.

Cinderella nodded, though her hands didn't move from her stomach.

Rumpelstiltskin cocked his head to the side. "And why is that I wonder?"

Cinderella hesitated, then launched into an explanation that sounded suspiciously rehearsed. "My husband, he's… Having a hard time. Our kingdom is poor, we're losing money, our crops are dying… We can't support our people."

"And you would trade your child for… comfort?" Rumpelstiltskin suggested. "To make your life easier?"

"I can always have more children," Cinderella told them, a hand rubbing her stomach lightly, "but I can't make crops grow where the soil is dead. In exchange for another child, you will see that our land is once again fertile. I think it's more than fair."

"What will you tell Prince Thomas?" Belle wanted to know.

Rumpelstiltskin gave her a sharp look, but Cinderella's eyes had locked on the ground in a play of shame. "I'll tell him that we lost them… I… Childbirth is…" she swallowed. "He doesn't need to know."

"In that case… what you're offering is indeed a fair price," Rumpelstiltskin said, "if what you're saying is true."

"It is," Cinderella confirmed. She reached into a pocket in her gown and pulled out a rolled up parchment, a quill tucked inside. "And all you have to do," she added, "is sign on the dotted line."

Rumpelstiltskin reached for the quill and parchment. He flicked the parchment over and quickly scanned its contents, then handed it to Belle for her to read. The contract was too clean cut, she thought, too sincere and simple. If it were true, and Cinderella never wanted Thomas to know, then it would have a clause somewhere that said they couldn't breathe a word of it. Of course, Cinderella could just be that silly… but Belle doubted she'd written this contract of her own accord. Belle shook her head as she handed the contract back to the sorcerer, who was busy examining the quill.

"Where did you get this?" he asked lightly, flicking the feathered part of the pen through the air. "It's quite a lovely wee quill."

"Its from our castle," Cinderella replied, twisting her hands together.

"You know…" Rumpelstiltskin glanced at Belle, then back at the princess, "the only way to stop me… is through magic."

"I'm not trying to stop you."

"Of course not," Rumpelstiltskin agreed, and made as if he were about to sign the parchment. He stopped at the last second. "Because, as we all know, all magic – even fairy magic – comes with a price. And if you were to use it to say, imprison me, then your debt to me would only grow. And we wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Cinderella looked pained. "Just sign the contract please."

"Are you sure you're happy with this new arrangement?" Rumpelstiltskin pressed. "Once this is done it can't be _un_done."

Belle bit her lip. There was something in the way he spoke that made her think she was being warned. That there was a message there for her, not Cinderella. She wanted to tell Rumpelstiltskin not to sign, to just disappear back to the Dark Castle. "Wait –" she started, just as Rumpelstiltskin signed his name.

The sorcerer froze under a haze of magic, the ripples of power distorting the air around him. Belle took a step back.

"Thomas!" Cinderella cried.

Boots crashed through the undergrowth and Prince Thomas emerged, Charming and Snow White on his heels. They came up short when they saw Belle, hands automatically reaching for weapons.

"Now, now," Rumpelstiltskin said, obviously not frozen enough to be prevented from speaking, "there's no need for that. The Lady has no intention of causing trouble… Do you, dearie?"

Belle kept her eyes on the princes and princesses, forcing her face to remain calm and pleasant even as she wished she was _capable_ of making trouble the way they thought she could. "You wish me to stand here and watch as they take you away?" she asked him instead, a tremble in her voice that she wished wasn't there.

"Much better than weeping, wouldn't you say?"

Belle thought a moment. There was nothing she could do, no moves she had to play, nothing she could say to convince them to let him go. Rumpelstiltskin didn't break deals, and Cinderella clearly had no intention of keeping her end. If she tried anything at all she would likely find herself taken and locked up, and not likely next to him. The very fact that he was telling her not to do anything implied that he would rather she go free. "If I could," she said to the royals, her voice cold, "I would turn every last one of you into worms… But Rumpelstiltskin asks me not to cause trouble, so you can expect no trouble from me."

"She's lying."

The new voice was firm and wise, and came from a small, glowing blue creature that seemed to appear from nowhere. A fairy. Under normal circumstances Belle would have been fascinated. Given the current situation, and that she'd just been called a liar, Belle was less curious and more offended. "Excuse me?"

"The Enchantress is a creature of darkness," the Blue Fairy said, speaking to the royals, "as is Rumpelstiltskin. Her heart is dark and she knows nothing of truth or compassion. You should not trust her."

"We don't have the space –" Snow White began, even as the fairy raised her hands towards Belle.

A flash of blue light spiralled towards her through the air. Belle felt the choker respond to the threat, a sudden warmth against her throat. She had no time to react before suddenly she was standing in the great hall of the Dark Castle, purple smoke dissipating around her. Her hand went to the stone, still warm against her skin. This would only make her legend grow, she knew, all because Rumpelstiltskin had enchanted the choker to protect her.

Rumpelstiltskin, who was now frozen and captured, sure to be locked away in some custom made prison.

"I _knew_ we shouldn't have gone," Belle said aloud, her voice echoing in the emptiness of the hall. And then the tears began to fall.

She must have sat down at some point, because when she heard the noise she was on the floor, her skirt puddled around her. She sniffled, blinking away tears, and tried to figure out where the noise had come from. Obligingly, the sound rang out again – a distant clanging, as if metal was striking against metal. Belle raised her hand to swipe the tears from her eyes. She stood, somewhat shakily, and shook out her skirt. It was creased, but she was alone. Appearance didn't much matter to her right now.

Belle followed the sound, out of the hall and into the east wing, then down the stairs into the cold dark basement cellars under the castle. The castle dungeons were normally a place she avoided, having no use for empty cells that housed nothing but chains and the occasional draft. They were a relatively small area of the castle under the east wing, a dark, forbidding place that made the rest of the castle look warm and welcoming by comparison. The clanging sound grew louder as she walked the long row of empty cells, until finally she saw the cause.

In the last cell, determinedly striking at the lock with a stone, was Prince Thomas. Looking much the worse for wear. He stopped when he saw her, eyes narrowed in defiance even as he took in her disheveled, red-eyed appearance.

"Prince Thomas," Belle greeted the man with as much composure as she could muster. "I would say 'welcome', but you are not."

"You can't keep me here," Thomas said, glaring at her. "My friends will find me. They will know you took me, and they will come for me. Cinderella will never give you our baby, no matter what you do. Good will always win."

A sound that might have been a laugh clawed its way through Belle's throat, startling her. But then she thought about it a little and it made sense to laugh. Incredulous, bitter, slightly hysterical laughter that clearly frightened the prince (though he tried to pretend it didn't). She finally got herself under control only after she noticed that the prince had backed away. She must look like the Enchantress now, the black hearted witch in the tavern tales. "I don't care about your baby," she told him clearly. "I don't much care about _you_. I care about Rumpelstiltskin. And I can only assume he's now locked in a dungeon somewhere."

"He's somewhere not even you can find him, Enchantress," Thomas told her from the back of the cell, all nobility and honour, "somewhere he can't harm another soul or force another innocent into a deal they don't understand."

"A deal they don't read, you mean."

Thomas had nothing to say about that.

Belle was silent a moment, then told him; "If your friends come for you, I will let them take you. If they don't… I can promise only that you will be treated as kindly as possible under the circumstances. Please refrain from attempting to escape," she added, "I can only imagine the sorts of spells My Lord might have put on these dungeons. I'm certain none of them are pleasant."

She turned to leave, intending to go up to her rooms and shut the world away for a time. Thomas; voice echoed behind her; "My friends will find me," he said, full of confidence and righteous anger. "They will not leave me here to rot."

Belle didn't turn back or even pause as she replied. "Your friends probably don't even know you're still alive."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

**Notes**: This is it! The finale! A last couple-thousand words before this story kicks it and I have to hold my breath and hope I've finished the next one before next Monday... Hope you enjoyed the ride and, as always, thanks to everyone who reviewed. You guys are what make my day.

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The next few months felt as if they were the worst of Belle's life. The Dark Castle became a cold and lonely place, her only company within the castle the rather uncooperative Prince in the dungeons. No matter what tactics she tried, be it gentle diplomacy or uncharacteristic threats, he would not reveal the location of Rumpelstiltskin's prison. Belle took to leaving him alone more often than not, only coming down to the dungeons to bring him food and water.

She spent more time in town listening for stories and news in the taverns, but soon even that soured. There was only so much to distract her even in such a busy market town. Melancholy, missing Rumpelstiltskin, Belle counted each day as it passed by in agonising slowness. She had no way of communicating with him, no means of knowing how he fared or if he missed her as much as she missed him.

Belle carried on with her routine but found little joy in it. Even the library had lost its lustre.

She was at the market one afternoon when a snippet of news came her way, gossip in the form of a flower-seller who had recently finished up a big contract in Starrow. A wedding. Snow White's wedding. The flower seller was in the tavern, telling his story to any and all who cared to listen. As soon as Belle heard the words 'Evil Queen' she decided to be one of those who listened.

"… came storming in, all dressed in black," the flower-seller said, waving his mug of ale as he spoke, "you could hear a pin drop in the quiet what followed. A curse, she said, a terrible curse. One to destroy the prince and princess."

"King and queen," someone corrected, "they 'ad their coronation."

"To destroy the king and queen then," the flower-seller repeated, rolling his eyes, "what do the names matter? The old queen wants to curse the new one, that's what's important."

Belle frowned. Regina had appeared at Snow White's wedding to Prince James and had threatened the couple with a curse to destroy them? She was the only one in the tavern who knew of Rumpelstiltskin's meddling, the protection spell that made it impossible for Regina to harm either royal while in this land. _This_ land, Rumpelstiltskin had told her that day. Implying that they would be vulnerable in another land. And 'this land' couldn't just mean Starrow or Regina would have tried something on one of their many visits to their neighbouring kingdoms. It couldn't be as simple as getting them to a land across the sea or Regina would have made some attempt to manipulate them into travel.

This land, an important child, the true love potion for a rainy day. "Oh, you clever, clever bastard," Belle muttered under her breath.

She left the tavern, striding quickly and confidently down the road towards the castle. This, all of this, was his doing. Of course it was. Of course he would have been pulling the strings, playing the long game. He'd as good as told her so, though he had always been careful not to give her any details. She had thought he would, someday, but he'd been captured before that had ever happened.

Belle sighed to herself. But of course she knew he'd been captured on purpose. He'd warned her of that in the moment, in a way, telling her they couldn't do anything to him he didn't want them to, that he was going to walk right into their trap. Presumably that meant that some vital bit of his plan relied on his being captured. Perhaps he'd had a vision, seen it in the future? That skill he never spoke of but that plenty of stories credited him as having.

Belle went straight up to her room to change clothes. She brushed her hair out and pinned it back with ornate gold combs and chose a midnight black silk gown from her wardrobe. It was simple in design, but made opulent by the many tiny glass beads that were embroidered into the fabric at the bodice and hems. A mourning gown. Oddly appropriate for what she was planning. Once dressed she descended to the dungeons, making a brief stop on the way to retrieve Prince Thomas' daily ration of food and water.

The prince was sitting in his cell, staring dully at the wall. He moved when she approached, turning to glare sullenly at her. After so many months he had finally stopped telling her that his friends would rescue him.

Belle slid the food and water through the gaps in the bars. She stood, hands clasped in front of her, and regarded the prince coolly. "I thought you should know," she said finally, "Regina has threatened your friends with some unknown and terrible curse."

"And let me guess, you and Rumpelstiltskin are the only ones who can stop it?" Thomas rolled his eyes. "Tell me another one."

"No," Belle replied calmly, "we can't, actually."

"Then why tell me?"

"I'm going away to Starrow. There's a possibility your friends might capture me and throw me in gaol." A possibility, though Belle didn't know what her chances were exactly. She'd be counting on the choker to get her out of trouble like it had before. "There's a possibility that if I tell them where you are they still wont be able to rescue you. It seemed only fair to warn you that if your noble friends detain me you might die."

Thomas was silent a moment, staring defiantly at her face. "You are a cruel woman," he said finally, slow and deliberate. "I hope they destroy you."

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Snow White's palace was as grand as Belle remembered it. Dressed in her peasant's cloak over her black dress, she blended into the slow trickle of people as best she could. Petitioners to the King and Queen, peasants, merchants, even a few nobles, made their way through the main gates, the courtyard, and to the castle's grand hall where the King and Queen presided. Unable to just appear and disappear at will, this was her best bet of an audience with the royal couple. To just appear as any other petitioner would, and make her statements in front of the grand hall. It would give them an audience, unfortunately, but it would also – she hoped – make her appearance in the castle seem less threatening.

She waited patiently in the line that formed, listening to the dull petitions of the people in front of her. Poor farmers pleading for royal aid to save their dying animals, merchants asking for tax exemptions or compensation for goods lost months ago in the battle to usurp Regina, a couple asking that the Queen take their daughter into service as a palace maid, a woman with three toddling children begging for her marriage to be dissolved.

Each one received a fair answer and a solution they seemed happy with.

And then it was Belle's turn.

She stepped forward until she stood in front of the royal couple below the dais on which they sat, and removed the hood of her cloak. There was a ripple of movement throughout the hall, gasps and murmurs as the people there realised who she was. Prince James' jaw clenched tight. Snow White's hand strayed towards her side, then stopped when she remembered she was in court clothes and not carrying any weapons.

Belle stood straight, looking only at the royal couple. "Your Majesties," she greeted them with a slight curtsy, a gesture of politeness she was certain the likes of Regina never gave.

"Enchantress," Prince James replied, a hint of suspicion in his voice, "what do you want?"

"I heard of Regina's threat," Belle replied, getting right down to the point. "I came to offer my condolences, and some advice."

Another set of murmurs chased their way around the hall, this time louder. Snow White stood, a smile (professional, reassuring, in control) on her face. "Perhaps in private," she said. "We're just about done for the day here anyway. Charming?"

Prince James stood, hand on the hilt of his sword. "The guard's office is close by," he said, his eyes not leaving Belle, "we can talk there."

The royal couple left the dais, headed for a door nearby. Belle followed them, noticing coolly that several guards left their positions about the room to flank her. Just in case she were to try something stupid.

The guard's office was small, square, and sparsely furnished. There was a desk, a chair, a book shelf full of scrolls and ledgers, and a rack of spare weapons in one corner. Prince James stood in front of that, blocking her from accessing any of the weapons. Not that she would want to. Belle's practical knowledge of weaponry was the same as any noble-born girl. She could identify the names and uses of the weapons, but wouldn't have the first clue how to wield any of them herself. Snow White took up a position in front of the desk, leaving Belle to stand in front of the door with the guards standing just outside, ready to catch her if she tried anything funny.

"So," Snow White said firmly, "you wanted to offer advice. What is it?"

"Have you been to see Rumpelstiltskin yet?" Belle asked simply. "About Regina's threat? Because if you haven't yet, you should."

The way Snow White and Prince James glanced at one another made her think they hadn't. "Why?" the prince asked, clearly playing her for more information, "what would the Dark One know about what Regina's planning?"

"You'll have heard stories that say he can see the future," Belle replied, turning to examine the book shelf. She ran a finger down the spine of one of the ledgers, a gesture calculated to look idle and disinterested, as if her heart wasn't pounding. She'd never done anything like this before. Never on her own. "They're true." She looked back at the couple over her shoulder. "Something as big as she's planning, he'll have seen it."

"Don't you know what it is?" Snow White pressed, a frown on her pretty, rosy-cheeked face.

"No." She didn't. She could guess. But she couldn't be certain. Not when she didn't have all of the facts.

"So you want us to go talk to Rumpelstiltskin," Price James summarised, "to find out what he knows about Regina. How do we know this isn't a trap? That you're not planning on following us and breaking him out?"

"Do you think I can turn invisible?" Belle asked, shifting to look at the prince. "I can't. Do you think it would have been so easy to catch him if he didn't want to be caught?" Belle swallowed, forcing the sudden tightness of her throat down. "There's a reason he's in that cell. It's probably because you'd never accept help from him any other way."

"We don't need his help," Prince James insisted.

"Maybe not. But you need information, and he has it." Belle hesitated. "That's all I came to say."

"Can't you tell us?" Snow White asked. "You're his… companion. Surely he would have told you if it was that important."

Belle smiled sadly, remembering a hundred deals and a hundred frustrated ponderings of how much easier life would be if he just told her what he had planned. In those instances it never mattered, she knew him well enough to guess, and her guesses were almost always right. But this time, just this once she wished he'd told her the whole thing, that he hadn't just hinted and trusted that she'd work it out. "I never needed to know."

"Well, thankyou… We'll think about it."

Belle nodded, taking that as her cue to leave. She turned, intending to go, to find her way was still blocked by the guards. After a small hesitation she decided that the risk was worth it, and walked forward anyway. One of the guards grabbed her arm to stop her. Belle felt the choker respond even as she heard Snow White cry out for the guard to stop.

A moment later she stood in the great hall in the Dark Castle. She stayed there awhile, standing by the long table and looking at the roses that had begun to wilt around the room. Finally she moved, and undid the clasp that kept her cloak around her shoulders. She draped the plain brown fabric over the back of a chair, leaving it to hang there listlessly, and wandered through into the kitchen.

She was there one afternoon, sitting in one of the chairs with a pot of tea beside her and a book cracked open in her lap, when she saw the storm. Unnatural, rolling, purplish clouds enveloped the horizon, moving far too fast to be anything other than magical in origin. This was it, whatever 'it' was. The thing Regina had been planning, that Rumpelstiltskin had manipulated her into doing. Something that would likely take them from 'this land' and into another. Belle stood, the book dropping from her lap, and walked towards the window. Her heart felt as if it were gripped in a vice, something telling her that things were about to change. Drastically.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she breathed, a small prayer, and closed her eyes as the cloud washed over the Dark Castle.

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Lacey Gold woke up uncomfortably tangled in the blankets of her bed, a beam of sunlight streaming down right into her eyes. She rolled over to escape the intruding sunbeam only to find her nose tickled by her husband's hair. She scrunched her nose, wondering if it was even worth the trouble to suggest a haircut. Their anniversary was coming up soon, she remembered, perhaps she could guilt him into it then.

Giving up on sleep, even though she normally slept much later than this, Lacey sat up in the bed and stretched. Monday greeted her with all of its sunny overbright cheerfulness.

She needed caffeine, perhaps with a shot of whiskey, and then it would be time to start the day.


End file.
